Imbalance
by Aeary
Summary: "Is that . . ." Hawkeye whispered. "Yes," Roy answered, and his heart constricted and swelled at the same time. There, lying in the center of the crater, was one small body. Edward Elric.
1. Prologue

The gate was a pool of black and white, but he was a pool of gold and blue, his alchemy crackling around him as he faced Truth in defiance.

Truth was between two Gates. Beyond the white mass he could see hopeful eyes on a body far too emaciated to be healthy. He wanted to run across, to wrap his brother into a protective hug and never let him go again. But that would give Truth the permission to take whatever it wanted.

And he refused to let it do that again. An arm? A leg? No.

Ed was going to one up the damned thing.

"What's your price?" came the question, Truth's grin never once wavering.

"My alchemy," he stated, holding out his hands. "My alchemy for my brother, soul and body."

"Oh?" the gate cackled; if anything, the grin grew broader. "Do you really think that to be a fair price? Is your brother worth that?"

"He's worth _more_ ," Ed hissed.

"Why don't you let him be the judge of that?"

Al's gate opened, and Ed breathed out a sigh. Finally, finally Al would be back with his own body. And even if he couldn't use alchemy, that was fine, because it was Al and Al was more important than any material thing like science. He stepped across, to run over and walk out with him.

But a static-filled white arm reached out and grabbed him by the throat.

"Fool," the Gate hissed.

"Al!"

"Fool. You cannot separate yourself from your alchemy." Truth scoffed. "Like you thought it was possible. Edward Elric, do you know what you just gave me in return for your brother?"

Golden eyes widened.

"You gave me your whole _self_."


	2. Alchemy

1\. Alchemy

"It's a nice day out."

Summer was fading, leaving the trees with golden leaves that frequently fluttered to the ground, coating the green grass with dead leaves. The weather was changing, adjusting from Central's typical dry heat into something a little more manageable. Now, there was a slight breeze, and the sun's attack was not as harsh. It brought out Central's population, brought them walking down sidewalks and chatting amiably as they enjoyed the cooler weather.

But it was not a nice day to Roy Mustang.

Because it was a day like this that Alphonse Elric had returned from the Gate with his emancipated body. Ed had promised that he would be right back. That it would be the last time he acted as an Alchemist. It was a day like this that they had searched and searched while Al was nursed back to health, only to find nothing but the metal of Fullmetal's leg scattered about the surrounding area. They'd fought, so hard, to rid Amestris of Father, and Ed's smile had made everyone think he had figured it out. And it was a day like this that Al had finally stirred from his deep slumber to say six simple, debilitating words.

"The Gate decided to keep him."

Al had said little since then, in spite of the fact that it had now been two years. Two years since the final day of Fuhrer Bradley's reign over the military, two years since Al had regained his body . . . and two years since Edward Elric had been pronounced missing and presumed dead.

The military had listed the Major's status as missing in action, but Mustang and his men all knew the truth. Al had told them that the gate had kept him. They all knew Ed, knew his fierce determination and unwillingness to give up in spite of the odds. They all knew that Ed, with his unfailing faith to his brother and the goal they had shared, had likely given himself to the Gate so that Al could have his body back.

Equivalent exchange. Roy had once believed that to be the way of alchemy, but now, he thought it was just unfair. The Gate had already taken Al's body and Ed's limbs for their attempt at human transmutation. If it were equivalent exchange, the Gate should have taken Ed's body in return for Al's. But instead, the Gate had returned Al's body and had taken Ed's life. A life was not worth that, Roy thought. But then, he'd always thought that Ed's life, any life, was worth more than just an object. Al had his soul . . . he still had his life.

And Roy didn't know whether to feel angry that Ed would be so careless, or angry that the Gate had played with Ed's feelings so much that it made him the way he was.

None of them knew what they'd had until the day Al had told them Ed was gone. Mustang had treated him badly enough, yelling orders at him and handing off assignments to him that really never should have touched his hands. As the years had passed, he had begun to feel guilty about it.

But now there was nothing he could do to fix it. Ed had died thinking he was just a "bastard" and he wished, more than anything, that he could have a second chance to show him otherwise.

He glanced off to the side, to Hawkeye. On a normal day, she offered him a tight-lipped smile, an attempt to cheer him up as he had not been cheered since Ed's death. She was the queen of pretending to be alright for the sake of others. But today she only looked at him in concern, and he sighed. It wasn't just that this was a day that looked like that one. It was that day exactly. Two years ago. September fifth, in the afternoon.

Roy thought that it would get easier with time to simply remember the Fullmetal Alchemist as a subordinate lost in the war. But, as he had learned, he found it incredibly hard to let go of those that he was close to. And in spite of all the spitting remarks and heated arguments, there was one thing he had never doubted in his mind: he had been fond of Edward Elric, just as he had been fond of Maes Hughes.

But even with that, it was different. When Maes had been killed, so long ago now, he felt as though he'd lost his only friend and support. When Ed was taken by the Gate . . . it felt like a piece of what made him who he was had just walked out on him. Edward had helped shaped him simply by growing into the young man he had been before dying. And Roy was very, very much lost now, as a cause of it. The idea that he could become the Fuhrer was now just something superficial. He'd had a reason, a purpose, for wanting to reach that position, but right now, he couldn't remember it for the life of him.

Shaking his head, he tried to rid himself of such thoughts. He couldn't be wallowing in his own mental misery when he was supposed to be going to provide support for someone else. If there was one thing that Al was so much better at than his brother, it was his ability to read people. Ed blazed through, not bothering with the details. Al took everything in, every face twitch and sigh. Al would know if he was upset. And in spite of his own sadness, Al would try to fix what was wrong with Roy instead.

How messed up would that be?

Alphonse had wanted to join the military himself for a time after he'd gotten his body back. He knew that Ed was gone, knew that there wasn't a thing he could do, but the military was where Ed had left his biggest impression . . . he'd spent the entirety of his teenage life there, through thick and thin. It was only natural that Al would want to be close to that. But Mustang wouldn't allow him to take the certification exam. Al was far too frail physically; even now, two years later, his body hadn't fully recovered the strength it had lost while sitting at the Gate. And mentally . . . he couldn't submit the younger Elric brother to that. It had been enough of a hell for the older one. Roy had seen Ed change over the years. He might have seen hell when he was eleven, but he saw another kind of hell within the military. He had later regretted giving Ed the idea of joining. Things may have wound up so much differently if he hadn't . . .

The walk to the apartment Al stayed at was not long, he realized, but it gave Roy more time to think than he had wanted to today. It was highly unhealthy.

By all accounts, Al should have gone home to Risembool. To Winry. He could have been with others who knew Ed the way he had; the life they had led outside of the military's influence was so vastly different in the end. But Alphonse decided to stay in Central instead. Al never said why, and Roy never asked, but he suspected that his loss was a little bit easier to bear here, away from the overwhelming stench of grief and loss in that little village. But here he was alone. So Roy and his men watched out for him. After all, the Elrics had always just . . . been a part of their team. Their family.

"Sir?"

He blinked, head rising to stare at Hawkeye. It took him a moment to realize that he had been so lost in his thoughts he hadn't even seen the slightly ragged door in front of him now. His subordinate was staring at him with a frown pulling at her face, and he drew in a sharp breath. "Just distracted, Hawkeye," he answered softly, "don't worry about it. Shall we knock?"

She said nothing in reply, but he took it to be confirmation and so he reached his gloved hand forward. There was no guarantee Al would answer. They had come to offer support for the rough day, but . . . Al had become so withdrawn that he might just ignore the help. It upset Roy, honestly; Al had been so giving and welcoming, and now all of a sudden . . .

The door opened just a crack, and a gaunt, tired face stared back at him. There was no reaction for a minute, just a blank stare, before Alphonse offered a weak smile and opened the door wider. "General, Lieutenant," he greeted softly, stepping to the side to let them in. "I had a feeling you would be by today."

He was more open than normal, but this really just surprised Roy. Last year, Al had been a mess; they'd found him with red, dry eyes and a face haunted by pain. Mustang had been worried that was what he'd find here today, but although Al looked like he had been crying, he looked altogether far more put together than he had in . . . awhile, actually.

The apartment Al stayed at now was paid for through what remained of Ed's pension after his death. It had taken a lot of arguing and persuading for Roy to manage it; the army had naturally wanted to hold onto the money. But with Ed . . . well, gone, that money was going nowhere. He'd barely used it the way it was; what with running around more than anything else. It was to Al that it needed to go.

The last time Roy had seen the apartment, it had been in chaos . . . and not the kind of chaos that the Elric brothers (mainly Ed) had been known for. Clothes had been strewn everywhere in the floor, dirty dishes had been floating in the sink, trash had been littering every available surface. It looked like the sort of home a drug addict would have lived in. Al was so depressed about the whole thing that he had barely even bothered to get out of bed.

This . . . this was entirely different. As Roy stepped inside the open doorway, he saw swept, clean floors. There was even a pile of books stacked neatly on top of the small table. He pulled his eyes from the sight immediately; it reminded him of Ed, studying for hours on end, his focus so intense that he was barely even aware of his surroundings. Roy could almost see him there now, rocking back on the pegs of the chair and chewing a pencil as he pored over some alchemic theory. It hurt to think about.

And Al . . . Al himself seemed far more composed than he had been since Ed's death: clean and casually dressed, as though he were preparing to go out. He held himself straight for once, although Roy could still yet see the grief emanating from those tired eyes.

"How are you holding up?" Hawkeye asked, her sharp eyes examining Al's frame. She was dressed as a civilian as it was her day off, but she looked no less fearsome than usual with her gun tucked safely against her hip.

Al let out a soft breath as he shut the rackety door behind him. "As well as I can," he answered with a small shrug. "I just can't believe it's already been two years." He hesitated. "He would have been eighteen this year."

So whatever face Al had put on for them was just a mask, Roy realized. Al was still grieving, very much so. He just looked . . . a little more understanding of the situation. The General nodded in quiet understanding. "His contract with the military would have ended this year as well. I guess he got out of that early at the very least."

"He didn't hate it as much as he wanted you to think, you know."

"Oh? He ignored any orders from his superiors and somehow managed to get away with it. I'm actually amazed he didn't leave sooner."

"He ignored everyone's orders," Al laughed, but quickly fell quiet again. Suddenly he drew in a sharp breath and said, "Thank you, General."

Since when had Al gotten so old? Since when had they both gotten so old? He'd met them when they were just ten and eleven. Now Ed was dead before he even had a chance to move on, and Al . . . Mustang shook his head as he answered the boy—no, the young man. "I've told you already, Alphonse, call me Roy. My coming here to see you has nothing to do with politics or the army. I'm simply here as an old friend."

Al smiled and shrugged, but he didn't answer. Roy found that oddly comforting, because Al's sudden calm demeanor was slightly off putting to him. This was a far more familiar response as of late from the alchemist.

"You've cleaned up," he tried again to make conversation.

"I'm packing."

Silence dropped in the room like a gag, and Roy jerked his head up to stare at the alchemist standing before him. The way the Elric had said those words indicated that he wasn't just packing for a short trip. No . . . he had a plan, and part of him seriously dreaded it. The implications of what Al was saying meant . . . "Has Winry finally persuaded you to come home?" he asked hopefully.

"Ah . . . no, not quite." He drew in another deep breath and looked between Mustang and Hawkeye seriously. There was determination in his gaze as well, as though daring either one of them to stop him. "I'm going to leave Amestris."

Hawkeye's breath hitched in her throat; a quick glance confirmed that the woman was very much alarmed by Al's revelation. "Alphonse," she said tightly, "I understand that you are still grieving, but . . ."

"Don't misunderstand, Lieutenant, it isn't that. I . . ." He sighed quietly. "At least sit down first, please. It feels really awkward with you just standing there."

He nodded towards the couch, but Mustang remained frozen in place as he stared hard at Ed's brother. He'd been thinking so much of Al's sadness that he hadn't thought to look for any other emotion in those golden eyes that so closely mirrored Ed's. But now that he did look, it wasn't just grief that stared back at him. It was . . .

"I'm okay," he whispered honestly. "Really. It's just time to move on."

There was resignation in them too.

Alphonse had grown far taller than Roy remembered him to be. Up until now, his posture had been frail and hunched, curled into some sort of protective state against the world's cruelty. But the person who stood in front of him now was straight-backed and relaxed. He was taller than Roy, even, and certainly taller than Ed would have been at that age. Really, where had the time gone? Suddenly Roy felt as though the entire world were trying to pass him up.

"Brother wouldn't like how I've been acting," Al explained, fondly using his old nickname for the older Elric. "He would call me a coward . . . actually, he would beat my head in and tell me to suck it up or something stupid like that." He laughed, genuinely. "But . . . But really, Gen—um, Roy. Lately I've been thinking. I'm wasting everything that Ed gave up so I could be here right now. He gave himself up so that I could actually live in my own body. I don't think he ever actually intended to get his arm and leg back. I think . . . I think that the whole time, he was doing everything for me. Because he felt so guilty." Al met Mustang's eyes with a resolve that made his eyes look exactly like Ed's. "So I need to move on in order to keep from wasting the last gift my brother ever left for me."

The little apartment fell into a silence that remained for quite a while before Roy could find anything that he wanted to say. Al was right. They couldn't keep this up forever. Ed was gone. No, Ed was dead, and the last thing he would have wanted was to have everyone crying over him for a week, much less for this long. But it was hard not to. He admired Alphonse for finding the strength to realize that. If only . . .

If only he could find that same resolve himself. He felt as though this was something he could never move on from.

"Where will you go?" he eventually asked, knowing that nothing was going to persuade Al to stay. This was something he needed to do. He took a seat slowly next to Hawkeye as he waited for his answer.

"A-Ah, I was actually thinking Xing." Al glanced down at his feet once more, almost seeming embarrassed by the decision. "I never did get to learn a lot about Eastern alchemy; Ling and the others left before I could really ask about it. I want to learn its healing properties . . . so that I can put my own alchemy to a good use that isn't fighting. And . . ."

"May is waiting for you," Hawkeye finished gently. Her voice spoke volumes. May was incredibly fond of Al, in ways that weren't just friendly. She'd promised Al that she would wait for him . . . for however long as he needed. Overcome by grief, Roy had thought she would be left waiting forever, but now, there was something for him. Al could find a life there, where Amestris was no longer a place for him. There were no bad memories in Xing for him to remember.

He could start with a clean slate.

"On one condition," Mustang announced finally.

"You aren't my superior," Al pointed out lightly, almost jokingly, but he was going to listen anyway. His eyes had already flickered over curiously in wait.

"Go to Risembool first. Say goodbye to Winry. She still calls for you every week, even though you won't answer her. Even if you can't stay in Amestris any longer, at least give her the peace of mind that she never got with Ed. Do it for all of us."

Al squeezed his eyes shut, and for just a moment, Roy thought he looked as though he were definitely going to cry. Ed had left an imprint on Risembool through their memories and their lives . . . there were signs of him everywhere there. They all knew it was why Al had waited so long to go back. Why he was dreading going back.

But at the same time, it wasn't at all fair to Winry.

"Okay," Alphonse finally answered. He took a deep breath to steady himself. "You know, Roy, Lieutenant . . . I think even up until now, I kept hoping that some sort of miracle would happen. That Ed would just stomp in like he always does, half dead and covered in blood but spitting fire." He smiled sadly, tiredly, and his voice cracked. "But he's really gone, isn't he? He isn't going to come home anymore. I need to leave. I need to leave for good so that I can stop waiting on him to come through that door for me. I . . . need to stop lying to myself."

Roy Mustang considered himself to be a strong individual, fairly stoic in nature. He didn't cry easily. But his throat was now choked with the tears that wouldn't come to his eyes as Alphonse smiled again, this time with resolve.

"It's what Brother would have done if the Gate had taken my life instead."

* * *

So Al had left, his suitcase in hand. He'd stopped by only briefly in Risembool, a couple hours, to pay his respects to his mother and say goodbye to Winry. No one had heard from him since, but they all knew that he was alive and well in Xing. Word would have gotten back otherwise. But Al wanted a new life, one where he didn't have to think about everyone he had lost, and no one could really blame him for cutting all ties.

A year had passed by since he had left, Roy thought dully to himself as he sat at his office desk, his head slumped against a propped hand. It was all so incredibly boring now. He had his men, he had Hawkeye, and he had a position that was growing steadily closer to that of Fuhrer. But they did not complete the circle. Hughes was always a missing presence in the room, something he had taken for granted before he had been murdered by Envy.

But it was Ed and Al who really seemed to have filled the space with life itself. Their presence had always helped the men to perk up. Just their being there gave them courage to face the challenges they faced. But Al had become a shell of the person he was when Ed had died. Even if he were still in Central, the losses he had suffered would not bring back that lively attitude.

And Ed . . .

Roy could lie all he wanted, but he still had not moved on. He grieved in his silence, put on a face for his men, but there wasn't a day he didn't think about him. He didn't understand why he couldn't get him out of his head. He'd tried . . . from drinking to immersing himself in so much work it became unbearable. But nothing worked.

"He isn't going to come home anymore."

It was what Al had said just before leaving. And he had understood him at that moment, because Roy himself still felt like he was waiting for his office door to fly open, for a foot to appear behind it followed by Ed's small body. The impolite appearances had always annoyed him, but not anymore. Now he longed to see any sort of entrance from him.

But it had been three years. If there had been a way back from the Gate, Ed would have found it by now.

And Roy really, truly needed to remind himself of it.

"There's a strange energy in the air," he sighed as he stepped out of his office for some coffee. His men glanced up at him immediately in concern, but he just shook his head and glanced a tad bit woefully at the empty pot.

"Strange how?" Havoc called, leaning back in his chair to lounge for a minute. His words were easy and relaxed but Mustang could tell there was a bit of worry in there too. Ever since Pride had forced him to perform human transmutation, alchemy had been different to him. Easier. He sensed things that no one else could: changes in the air and the scent of static. If he could feel something in the air, it could be dangerous for everyone. But he didn't think that was the case this time. It just felt as though there were a spark about to ignite.

He set about making a new pot of coffee, dumping the grounds into a filter as he answered. "I'm not entirely sure, but it doesn't seem to be anything to be concerned about." Or maybe he was just hoping that it was something interesting. Something to make it lively at headquarters again. Because part of it felt as though something were going to happen. Like a tightened spring. But he didn't say that out loud. It would likely have nothing to do with them. Besides . . .

With Ed and Al gone, there wasn't an alchemist competent enough to handle something large. Roy himself was very well-versed in flame alchemy, but otherwise . . .

He could build walls. That was about it.

Coffee made, he took a seat at the desk in the main office, his fingers immediately digging into one of his drawers for the one souvenir he'd decided to keep of Fullmetal's. A single hairband, stretched thin from overuse. He'd found it under his office couch one day, not long after they had learned that Ed was gone for good. He could have thrown it away, should have. It was a silly sort of mentality. It was just a hairband. One of who knew how many that Ed had gone through over the years. But it was Ed's, and it was all he really had left of him other than some old automail scraps.

"It's that day, isn't it, Sir?" Fuery asked quietly. At first, Mustang wondered if it was showing too well on his face, but overall morale was low today. He should have realized. Even if he was the only one who hadn't necessarily moved on from the small alchemist's death, the others still missed him. Their eyes were all locked on their desks. Even Hawkeye, usually so stoic, was gripping her papers a little too tightly in her hand.

Slowly, he nodded, gripping the little hairband tighter in his gloved fingers. "Three years, now."

"I wish we could give the Boss a funeral, at least," Havoc sighed, running a hand through his short locks. "To put it all to rest. Even if the grave would be empty."

"We can't," Breda answered with a scowl. "The army still lists him as simply missing. They won't even give us an official change in status. Don't understand why."

"They're still waiting for a body," Falman answered.

"The automail we found should be proof enou—"

"Ed was breaking his automail all the time during fights," Mustang interrupted softly. Even now the talk of a funeral hurt to hear. He knew it was likely necessary at this point but . . . still, he didn't want to think about seeing a grave with Ed's name on it. It would make it all the more final. "It isn't enough proof for the higher ups." He scowled. "Enough of this. Ed would have our heads for arguing about a death certificate. We can just do what we have been doing and remember him today."

"General Mustang is right," Hawkeye agreed softly. "Ed doesn't need a grave for us to remember him, anyway. He would have hated the sentiment. Let's get back to work."

A stack of papers was dropped onto his desk, along with a meaningful glance, and he groaned. He dropped the hairband onto the desk and reached for a pen. He needed a distraction, even if it was just putting signatures on everything.

But it was hard to concentrate; the static in the air was getting thicker, and the longer he stared at the white and black of the sheets before him, the harder it was to concentrate. Eventually he hissed out an angry breath through his teeth, pressing a hand to his forehead.

"Sir?"

"That feeling. It probably isn't normal. It's been getting worse and worse all day."

"Should we—"

Hawkeye's words were lost as a large rumbling clap filled the air. Central shook as though hit with an earthquake, and a bright flash could be seen from the window. Roy was thrown from his chair, but he caught himself deftly by the edge of the desk. The others were already standing, glancing around in bewilderment. Roy's thoughts immediately turned to the underground tunnels running beneath Headquarters. If something had happened . . . if that man had gotten out again, somehow . . .

"With me!" he called, jerking on his gloves with a frenzied glance towards the window. They needed to get there first, before anyone else knew what was going on. If it wasn't safe, any other squadron would be wiped out immediately . . . and there was no telling what this could be. Only that alchemy was involved; he could feel it, thick and heavy in the air now. "That flash came from the center grounds!"

The air outside stank with the smell of a fresh transmutation and something Roy couldn't quite figure out. Soldiers were already running around, but none seemed to have made it to the source of the flash yet. Roy's status had them sprinting to the sides to get out of the way and let him at it first, which he was grateful for; he and his men could handle whatever had happened. The likelihood of it being something human was low, luckily, considering the Gate's penchant for ruining human transmutation. But if it were some sort of chimera or . . .

"What the hell . . ." Havoc breathed as they approached the center. A huge crater had been burned into the earth, its edges flickering with flames and the static of leftover alchemy. Mustang swallowed thickly and pulled his gloves more tightly against his hands. "Be on your guard," he hissed, then gingerly looked over the edge.

He could see nothing at first, just smoke and dust. He knew there was something down there, though. Something big, judging by the size of the crater. "Breda, Fuery, Falman, stay up here and make sure no one else climbs down. Havoc, Hawkeye, with me. Stick close and be careful."

"Sir!"

It was almost impossible to walk down the side of the crater, but the ground was muddy enough for him to dig his feet into the ground with each step he took. The smoke and dust was beginning to clear, and he spotted a small movement at the center of the crater. Immediately his fingers twitched, thumb touching his middle in preparation to snap if need be. Homonculus, Father, chimera . . . whatever it was, he steeled himself.

He stopped a few feet away and waited for the dust to clear, but when it did, instead of a snap of the fingers, a sharp intake of breath sounded.

"Is that . . ." Hawkeye whispered.

"Yes," Roy answered, and his heart constricted and swelled at the same time.

There, lying in the center of the crater, was one small body.

Edward Elric.


	3. Dark

Chapter Two – Dark

The unfamiliar feeling of air moving in and out of his lungs was what finally stirred him into wakefulness. It was so unusual, so out of place, that it hurt. He couldn't remember the last time he had ever drawn in a breath or exhaled. There was no air at the Gate, no signs of life. There was only stifling darkness and a truth that was always just barely out of reach.

"Are you bored yet?" the Gate had whispered to him one day. "I can give you something to do."

"You can go ahead and kill me," he had angrily spat back at the empty air, "because I don't want to do a single thing you give me. Not after this."

But the Gate didn't care about what he wanted and didn't want. It wasn't merciful.

"Don't be so bitter," it scoffed lightly. "After all, it's not the worst job. I'm sending you . . ."

Home.

He jerked into full wakefulness as he remembered, desperately filling his lungs with all the oxygen he could gather . . . only to choke and cough as he took in an overabundance. His body felt strange, now that he was returning from unconsciousness, almost unfamiliar. No . . . No, it was that he could feel. An eternity it had seemed of not filling. And now all of a sudden, there was the dull, pounding pain, his lungs, his heart pounding desperately in his chest. It was all so overwhelming. Was this how Al had felt just after he'd gotten his body back? He wished he knew, wished he could ask him. But the last he had seen of his brother had been his gaunt, tear-stained face as he was pushed out of the Gate.

"Edward!"

He dragged his eyes open, only to hiss and recoil against the brightness of the room. Hurriedly he flung his left arm over his eyes, shielding them from the scorching light. The Gate's darkness made him extremely sensitive to that; he hadn't thought it would be as bad as that.

A gentle hand tugged his arm away, replacing it with a cloth that did the same job. "I know the feeling," the person said softly. "Let your eyes adjust slowly. You don't want to hurt them."

He knew that voice. He could feel the soft fabric covering their hand, too. A glove. He licked dry, chapped lips and swallowed thickly, then croaked out in a voice so frail and trembling that it was practically embarrassing, "Colonel?"

"General now, Fullmetal," they answered, voice filled with a soft mirth. "I've been promoted."

"Still a bastard either way," he answered, more out of sentimentality for old nicknames than anything else. He hadn't actually hated Mustang in a long time now. No . . . it had been a long time now that he had respected him instead.

He was just too stubborn to let the other man know that.

"Do you know what happened?"

Ed chanced opening his eyes once more. The cloth was thin enough that he could see through it, but thick enough that it didn't hurt too much after a moment of adjustment. He could see Mustang's face now, and beyond it was an unfamiliar . . . no, he knew where he was. This was Mustang's inner office. He must have been on the couch.

"Fuckin' Gate is playing with me," he ground out in reply after a moment, shifting a little to try and ease some of the aches and pains beginning to show themselves. Big mistake; he immediately bit back a groan. His body hurt and shook; it was probably just as frail as Al's had been when he'd seen it sitting at the Gate. He felt bruised all over. That wasn't the worst of it, however. As he moved, a white hot agony slammed through him, emanating from . . .

"Don't move!" Mustang almost shouted at him. "There's something . . . you were covered in blood when we found you. We aren't sure what to do about it . . . we'll call Winry just as soon as the commotion outside dies down. We wrapped it for now but it's not exactly . . . easy to seal it."

His arm. The damn Gate had taken his arm from him again. Which, okay. Admittedly his arm had seriously ached with the way he'd gotten it back. The automail ports had still been there, under the flesh. But still, the principle of the whole thing remained. What could the point be of taking it this time? He hadn't performed any sort of transmutation.

"'S it bad?"

"Considering the blood was leaking through your ports . . ."

". . . Fucking great." Winry was going to kill him, first for disappearing and then for this. If the Gate had simply taken it the way it had before as he thought . . . his entire shoulder could be messed up. He might have to get it all done again. Recovery process and everything.

"Half dead and you're still swearing up a storm," the General sighed after a moment, although his voice sounded almost fond. "You sound like you need something to drink. We don't have anything except coffee, but . . ."

"Yeah."

He blearily watched the other man rise and step out into the main office before he shut his eyes once more against the still-bright room. Mustang looked older . . . more haggard than he remembered. He wondered if he'd been gone that long or if something had happened to make him look like that. Something that could break him down. He didn't even consider that it might have been him that had caused Mustang's aging. No one would have missed him except Al anyway, in his opinion. The world could live without him. That was why the Gate decided to take him in the first place.

So in that case . . . why was he even here? What the hell was the Gate intending for him to do in Amestris? What on earth did it want badly enough that it was willing to release him back to his body and to his home country once more? And . . .

If he was forced to complete whatever the Gate intended for him to do, would it take him again when the mission was complete?

The thought made his heart pound harder in his chest and he curled in on himself. Or tried to, anyway. It was hard when he was covered in heavy bruising and missing an arm. And a leg, he realized quickly; while he could tell the ports weren't ruined like they were on his arm, he was most definitely missing all of his automail. And who the hell knew how long it would take for them to contact Winry and get her here. He was essentially helpless until then. Helpless and holed up in his former superior's office.

"Fuck," he whispered to himself again, running his hand over his face.

But at the same time . . . at the same time, it seemed the Gate had slipped up. Or given him a break, one of the two. He doubted it was the latter, but by removing his limbs, especially by destroying his arm again, the Gate had made it to where he would have to stay until he was well enough to move around. He couldn't very well take care of whatever it was the Gate wanted him to do without full access to his alchemy. And he knew for a fact that the Gate needed his alchemy in Amestris. Otherwise, there was no point in sending him back. It was the only thing he was good at, anyway.

Mustang had left the door open, and although they were talking quietly, Ed could pick out every word they were saying. The time he'd spent with the Gate had made more than just his eyes sensitive. He shifted his head to the side a little, opening his eyes to catch a glimpse of military blue just beyond the door.

"It won't be long before someone stops by to question us," Mustang was saying softly, voice riddled with a mix of exhaustion, frustration, and something Ed couldn't identify but closely resembled relief. "They know we were first on the scene. Even if we've announced we found nothing, there's still the blood . . ."

"I can take care of it," Hawkeye answered. "We can simply spread the rumor that we think whatever it was got away and we are currently in pursuit. As long as they don't know that it was Edward."

"It's going to be hard to handle follow up on that sort of story."

"It won't be too hard to fabricate evidence that we did find something after a day or two. The bigger problem is hiding Edward when someone does come to ask about it."

"Let me worry about that. You just let me know when someone comes knocking. Any idea when we can get a call through to Winry?"

"I suspect not for a while, Sir. Our phone lines are being tapped already. We will have to figure out how to call from a civilian station, but it could take a day or two. In the meantime . . . what do you suggest we do with Edward? We don't have the knowledge to do anything other than basic medical procedures. He needs professional help, particularly in that state."

The two of them looked back through the door, and Ed hurriedly jerked his gaze back up to the ceiling, pretending to be resting. There was little else he could do to show that he hadn't been eavesdropping and he wasn't sure he'd been fast enough at any rate.

But they continued to talk, albeit quieter. Too bad Ed could still hear them. He stared at the back of the couch as he continued to listen, at least to give the impression that he wasn't hearing them anymore. Besides, he could barely see them.

"We might be able to get Knox in here," Mustang continued. "He's dealt with this sort of injury before . . . well, to an extent. I can use the excuse that one of the men were injured by the creature we found while investigating. We can't take him to the military hospital. We need to keep him hidden for now."

"Are you going to question him?"

"I'm going to have to. Not that I don't believe it's him. He's already called me a bastard and he's been using his . . . favorite word. But we don't know what he experienced, where he's been. I asked him what happened and he said something about the Gate toying with him. But he's too weak to answer anything else. I'll decide what to do after Knox takes a look at him."

They fell quiet, and Ed thought they were done talking. Good thing, too; he didn't like that he had to stay hidden, and he _certainly_ didn't appreciate the fact that they were going to question him like some sort of fugitive. But they were just being cautious. He realized that. It was only because of that reason that he would be willing to cooperate. Plus, he trusted them. Even now.

"What about Al?"

His breath hitched in his throat, and he fought the urge to move. Al. That was right. He was in a body now, right? He'd watched his body and soul leave together from the Gate. Was he alright? Had the Gate screwed him over too? If it had . . . If it had, then everything he had complacently dealt with in that darkness would have been for nothing.

"I'm not sure how to contact him," Riza murmured. "I doubt anyone knows how to. No one has heard from him since he left, after all."

"We have to let him know somehow. Perhaps not at the moment; he might be upset to see his brother in this state. Except . . ."

"If we have to, Sir, we can send someone to Xing to seek him out. When he left he said that he was going to seek out Mei Chan."

"Ah, that's right, she shouldn't be hard to find. Well, for now, let's—"

"Why is Al in Xing?"

Ed wasn't about to let the conversation just die like that; he fumbled with his hand to find the bottom of the couch, pushing himself up into a sitting position. Bad health be damned. He glanced impatiently at the two of them standing next to them in the doorway, chest heaving with the effort.

"Lay back down, Ed," Mustang hurriedly insisted, stepping inside the room. Hawkeye followed a moment later, much to his relief; the whole sitting up thing really wasn't working. But at least now he had their attention. As he slid back down on the couch, however, the General continued as though Ed's question hadn't even been asked. "Why were you listening in the first place?"

"Someone promised me fucking coffee and then started chatting outside the door," he snapped. "I may have been through hell and back, idiot, but my ears are perfectly fine." He pursed his lips together and repeated, "Why is Al in Xing?"

Neither of them seemed to want to answer regardless of it being his second time asking the question. They just looked at him gravely, like they wanted to keep the weight of the world off of his shoulders. It pissed him off. It was the same as it had been back then, when they had been trying to get their bodies back. In spite of everything that he and Al had done, in spite of the wars they'd fought and the lives they'd saved in the process, they'd still . . .

"I'm not a fucking _child_ , so stop treating me like one!" he growled. "After everything we saw together and everything Al and I accomplished, you still see me as someone who needs protecting. And I can assure you, the last thing I want right now is for you to be fucking mollycoddling me after I came back from hell again."

Ed was winded after that, his body lacking the energy it needed to really sustain the outbursts of anger he was prone too, and his arm was hurting him like hell at that point. He ignored his bodily complaints anyway as he waited for one of them to finally crack.

It was Mustang who finally did.

"You've been gone for three years, Ed. Three years to this day." He paused. "No, not gone. You've been dead."

A soft breath hitched in Ed's throat. He had hoped it would have been less time, but at the same time, he had a feeling it would be more. Meeting in the middle for time wasn't so bad in the end. But still, for Al to have dealt with it for so long . . .

"Alphonse couldn't go home to Risembool. He wouldn't tell us why but I suspect you would be too hard to forget there. And he couldn't ever really get over his grief. Last year, he . . . he said he was leaving Amestris for Xing. The way he talked led us to believe it was going to be permanent. He told us that if he stayed here any longer, he would never stop waiting for you to open the front door again. After he told us that, neither of us could even give ourselves a reason to persuade him to stay."

"We never assumed the Gate would think to let you go," Hawkeye added.

"Yeah . . . trust me, I didn't think so either," Ed managed softly.

They probably assumed he was going to be upset by this information. And he was, a little bit. He was upset that Al had grieved so much, and upset that he had to leave Al in that position. But as for his little brother's current decision, he knew that he had chosen what was best for him. And neither of them had thought, in that moment, that Ed would ever be able to get out. No, the Gate should have killed him. And Al would not have given up hope that he would be returned, even if it was obvious he wasn't. So he'd made the decision to move on with his life. He'd probably even said something like "It's what Brother would want me to do." He knew him that well, after all. And Ed did prefer that.

"Don't let him know," he said suddenly, glancing back up at the two officers seriously.

"But—"

"Not right now. Not yet."

Not because of his injuries. Those didn't bother him. Al had seen him in a worse state. He'd seen him in his worst state. But if . . . if the Gate were to take him back, he didn't want Al to know that he had ever been here in the first place. He'd moved on, right? He couldn't give him hope that he was back, only to leave again. It would kill him. He'd never be able to keep going after that.

Ed stared desperately at Mustang, hoping he would understand. Not the bit about the Gate—he wouldn't tell anyone about that—but that Al absolutely couldn't know. He was not about to willingly put his brother through hell all over again.

"I'll get you that coffee," the General finally answered with a soft nod, and rose to his feet. Without knowing the reason, the Flame Alchemist was going to agree. Or at least, he was displaying that he would. Hawkeye followed just after, though her pursed lips showed she didn't exactly approve. Whatever, Mustang would be able to persuade her not to say anything. He hoped.

"What about you?"

He turned his head again as Mustang returned a few moments later, raising an eyebrow in question. In retrospect, the gesture was probably lost underneath the cloth, but Mustang had probably sensed that he would need to elaborate.

A gloved hand waved in explanation as he knelt down, dark eyes observing the other slowly. "If you don't want Alphonse knowing you're back, what do you plan on doing? You joined the military as a means to information on getting your bodies back. You didn't seem altogether interested in getting your own back, but Alphonse is healthy and whole again."

"Guess it depends," Ed mused, taking the mug of coffee gingerly. It was so much hotter than he remembered, but when was the last time he'd touched something like this? He clutched it gingerly in his hand for a minute. "On what Winry says about . . ."

"Your arm."

"Mhm." He glanced down but could see nothing beyond white haphazardly wrapped bandages. "If it's too bad I'll have to go back to Risembool with her so she has all her equipment." And he had a feeling that might be the case, judging by the mess they'd described it to be, and based on how it felt. "Either way . . . I'll come back to Central. It's probably better if I go to Risembool anyway, right?" At the other's questioning look, he elaborated, "You don't want the military to know that I came from that alchemy. I'm dead to the military, right?"

"Just missing in action."

Ed frowned. He really didn't know what he was doing here, but he didn't really have a purpose without Al around, and he would need access to certain things if the Gate decided to show him what it wanted. So, in other words . . . "So once this tides over, I can just show back up?"

"Why would you want to do that?"

He might have been mistaken, but Ed thought he caught a hint of hopefulness in that question. He didn't comment on it, but he figured that just maybe . . . Al hadn't been the only one who missed him. It should have made him feel annoyed but he felt a little humbled instead. "I don't have anywhere else to go, and it gives me something to do, right?"

"You . . . won't mind being a dog of the military again? You can easily stay in hiding."

"Bastard." Ed gripped the cup more tightly in his shaky hand, then mumbled quietly under his breath, "'m not a dog as long as I'm working under you." Because it was true. Mustang's men were often relaxed but when the situation called for it, they were ready and willing to take on any situation no matter how daunting. It was because of Mustang. Because under that smug attitude, there was a man that would make absolutely sure of _why_ they were doing what they did before something went wrong. And above all else, Mustang took care of his men.

Ed included.

"Ah, wait," he realized suddenly with a frown. "I might not be able to after all. I was labeled a deserter, right? I was . . ." He paused. He couldn't let him know about _that_. "Uh, indisposed after I ran into Kimblee for a while. And then I joined up with Greed. So. Kinda deserted big time."

Mustang raised an eyebrow. "By indisposed, am I to assume that you are referring to something that has to do with a very nasty scar on your back and stomach? Both of which I was previously unaware of."

He blanched. He really hadn't wanted anyone to know about that. He'd been strong though it, but the cost to save his own life . . . "How did you—"

"The Gate didn't exactly provide you with any clothes when it dropped you out of the sky, Edward."

Flushing furiously at the thought of Mustang and his men finding him naked of all things, he ducked further underneath the blanket covering him. Someone must have dressed him since then, considering he was wearing a tank top at least.

"In answer to your concern, any soldier who deserted in the last several months of Bradley's rule were forgiven and pardoned by Fuhrer Grumman. After all, my entire team disobeyed orders from the military in order to stop the upper echelon. You are currently listed as missing in action. It wouldn't be too hard to get you back on active duty. But not until that arm is taken care of and you can actually walk."

Ed sighed in exasperation and finally took a sip of the coffee. Bitter flavor exploded on his tongue, hot and almost uninvited; and he flinched, pulling the mug away from him. It didn't deter him, however; a moment later he was taking another sip, face screwed up in temporary disgust. This was coffee, after all. An alchemist's best friend. He wasn't about to give it up so easily.

Mustang rose to his feet, placing his hand on Ed's better shoulder. He glanced up through long golden strands at the brooding man and waited for him to speak. "For now, Ed, just get plenty of rest. We'll keep you in here until it's safe to move you. If an emergency crops up, I'll wake you. But your number one concern is getting your strength back. Is that understood?"

"Barely awake for half an hour and you're already ordering me around," Ed whined, but he listened anyway, polishing off the (rather bad, he was now certain that it was just extremely shitty) coffee before sinking back down on the couch. It was an old couch, rather uncomfortable, but to him it felt like the best bed someone could offer. Because it was real, and corporeal, and he could _feel_ it. He shut his eyes slowly and curled into the small blanket's warmth as he allowed himself to doze off

—only to be hurriedly nudged awake some time later by Havoc, who shook him hard enough to leave him groaning in discomfort as he blinked grit from his still-covered eyes. His injuries felt somehow worse now; his whole body throbbed and his arm felt just as bad as it had the first time the Gate had taken it. He immediately reached over with his left, clutching at the metal-encased stump with a soft hiss of pain.

He could faintly hear Mustang talking to someone in the main office through the closed door; from the sound of his incredibly suave tone, he was talking to someone of higher authority than him. And chances were, they'd want to meet with him privately.

"What . . ."

"Sorry, Boss, I know you probably feel awful," Havoc replied apologetically as he knelt down, "but we're going to have to hide you until the Major General leaves. He's asking about the alchemic reaction."

Havoc was gentle as he lifted him, but that didn't stop Ed from groaning softly, gripping tighter at his bandaged shoulder. He'd thought he might be able to move around a little after he got some rest. Clearly, that wasn't going to be the case. Damn, the Gate had really pulled a number on him this time. Rest and rehabilitation were things he wasn't going to be able to avoid this time around.

Havoc looked understandably guilty about moving him, but Ed said nothing to him about it; he'd much rather shoulder the pain and get on with what they were trying to do. Even if what they were trying to do was shove him in the small space on the inside of Mustang's desk. It . . . would work, admittedly. But it was cramped even though Ed was small, and the wood hurt his neck horribly. Havoc disappeared for a moment, then returned with the pillow and blanket, quickly adjusting the two of them over him.

"You might be there for a while," the Lieutenant apologized awkwardly. "If it's any consolation, we got in touch with Dr. Knox. He's on the other side of Central currently but will be here within a couple hours at most."

"I don't exactly look forward to one on one meetings with doctors," Ed groused, then gingerly rested his head back against the pillow again.

"Totally understand, Boss. Just lay low and stay quiet for now. Sorry for the inconvenience. Under normal circumstances we wouldn't be shoving an injured soldier under the General's desk." Havoc grinned before he disappeared. As Ed listened, the door swung open and he could faintly hear the Lieutenant announcing, "I've swept the room, Sir; there were no bugs. You can speak freely of the incident in there."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Now, Major General, if you would follow me, I believe we can discuss the matter at large in the comfort of my office." New footsteps sounded on the thick carpet of Mustang's office; Mustang himself stepped immediately to his desk, and Ed scowled at the sight of polished military shoes. He almost wanted to mess them up since in this situation, Mustang couldn't do anything.

But he quickly smothered his childish desire when he heard the Major General in question speak. Hakuro. How the man had escaped death when so many other high military officials had not was a mystery to Ed, but either way, he knew it wasn't a good thing that the man was prying. He didn't have to be around to know that Hakuro wanted the Fuhrer's seat. And he'd resort to any sort of blackmail to get there.

"I see someone has made a mess of your couch, Mustang," the man stated darkly. "They've bled all over it."

Ed glanced subtly down at his shoulder, but aside from a few darker spots on the edges of the bandages, it didn't seem like his arm had bled any more. The stains must have been from when they'd first brought him into the room.

And as usual, Mustang had an excuse. "Ah, I apologize; one of my men received a fairly nasty gash when we confronted the chimera in the center of the crater. I must have forgotten to clean it up earlier. In fact, we have a doctor coming now to look in on him. Lieutenant Breda, if you must know."

". . . While unfortunate, Mustang, you and I both know that is not why I'm here."

The General sat in his chair, legs crossed casually. One foot just narrowly missed Ed's one knee, and he glared at the offending appendage as though it would burn if it came any closer. But then he saw one gloved hand drop down, a finger pointed outwards. Mustang was telling him to be sure he stayed very quiet.

Tch. Like he needed telling on something like that.

The conversation went as Hawkeye and Roy had planned it; a chimera had been found in the center of the crater. They tried to corner it, but Breda was injured and the beast escaped while they were distracted. Roy claimed to have a battalion out searching for it, and Ed was sure that there was a battalion out there somewhere, searching for a chimera that certainly didn't exist. Or at least, if it did, it was right underneath their noses.

"Why do I feel like I'm not the only one here?"

Ed stiffened immediately, biting his lip to hide his breaths. He didn't think he'd been breathing all that loud and he definitely hadn't moved, so how . . .

"I assure you, sir, you and I are the only two people in this room. Feel free to take a look around if you wish to." Mustang raised his foot suddenly, kicking the underside of the desk right next to Ed. A wooden plank slid down, just barely missing Ed's hand, the sound muffled by the General scooting back suddenly in his chair to stand. The space in the compartment was even smaller now.

And dark.

It was so very, very dark. He couldn't see a thing, eyes open or closed. Dark like the Gate. He waited for the sound of its condescending bark, but instead he heard muffled footsteps. He was still in Mustang's office. Still in Amestris. Not at the Gate. He reminded himself of this fact over and over as he waited in pitch blackness, his fingers twisted into his chest to quiet the sounds of his rapidly beating heart. Out, he wanted _out_ . . .

". . . I'll expect a full scale report on the matter once it has been contained," Hakuro finally answered with a grunt, apparently satisfied for now that no one was eavesdropping.

"It will be on your desk as soon as the matter is solved, Sir," Mustang answered respectably.

The door clicked shut again, and every atom in Ed's body screamed to be let out of the confining hole of darkness, but common sense told him to stay quiet until the coast was clear. It was another minute or two before someone spoke.

"Ed?"

"Let me out!" he begged, croaked, his fingers of his left hand pressing desperately against the wooden slab.

He heard Mustang's sharp intake of breath, and the wood was quickly lifted. Ed didn't care how badly injured he was; he crawled out, reveled in the burning light of the sun through the window, and drank in mouthfuls of shaking, horrified air. "Don't let me go back in there," he choked, not even bothering to hold on a pretense of being fine. He wasn't fine. He could pretend all he wanted but he was the most _not_ fine he had ever been in his life, he thought. He stared down at the carpet with wide eyes, his shoulders trembling fiercely. "Don't . . . I don't want . . ."

Nothing calmed him down until he felt warm, strong arms wrap around him, holding him sway against the images that always haunted him.

"I won't," Roy promised softly. "Don't worry."


	4. Gate

Roy stared down at the couch with furrowed brows, trying to make sense of the situation he found himself in. He had not expected Fullmetal to react in the way he had earlier. Ed had always seemed strong, unfazed by the world around him, unfazed at how the world had treated _him_. But the darkness . . . no, it hadn't been something simple like being frightened of the dark. That had been pure terror in his golden eyes.

Just what exactly had the Gate done to him . . .?

He had managed to calm Ed down after a little while and had carried him back to the couch, but persuading him to rest had been another matter entirely. He was still scared, even more so now that Roy had unwittingly put him into a situation he was uncomfortable with. Exhaustion and pain finally won out in the end over that fear, though. He slept curled on his side, curled into a protective ball under the blanket with his dirty golden hair splayed out behind him. And now, Mustang had absolutely no idea how to deal with Ed when he was like this.

He glanced away momentarily as he recalled how Ed immediately relaxed when he'd pulled the young man into his body's warmth. He wanted to think that it was because it was him that Ed had calmed, but deep down, he knew. It was simply because warmth was something Ed had not felt for the last three years. That warmth let him know that he was not back and with the Gate. Although it disappointed him, he was glad that he was able to do something for him regardless.

Even like this, even bruised and battered and missing two limbs, Roy still found him to be almost otherworldly in his beauty. Ed was unique, eye catching, in ways that he himself didn't know. His Xerxian father had given him traits to be envied, even if Ed hated that he looked a lot like Hohenheim. But he had also inherited Xerxian height, and he looked unbearable small on that couch. Much smaller than Al, who had somehow sprouted up in spite of the time his body had been malnourished in the Gate. Ed's own growth was likely stunted now because of his own experience.

He would hate that, and the thought had a small smile twitching on Roy's face.

Still, even bruised and battered, even missing those limbs, he looked strong. Although scared, he had withheld the terror of the Gate and returned to Amestris, to his home.

"Sir."

Broken from his train of thought, Roy's head jerked up to stare at Havoc's lanky form in the doorway.

"Dr. Knox is here. Should I send him in?"

"No, I'll meet him out there. Ed hasn't been asleep long so we'll see if he can wait with us."

With one last glance at the sleeping figure on the couch, he stepped outside, shutting the door softly behind him.

"Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice," he told the doctor standing there, genuinely grateful to the other man. He owed him favors now, certainly. He would have to find something to thank him with. "We told you that one of our men had been injured, but that's not . . . exactly the case."

The old doctor raised an eyebrow, his expression a tad exasperated but humored nonetheless. "I should have expected as much from you, Mustang, considering your aptitude for being sneaky. Somehow I have a feeling the real injured one here is whatever came out of that crater."

"Well, you're not wrong," he admitted, "but it's not a chimera or anything of the sort. And they are . . . sort of one of my men."

He opened the door again, wincing as it creaked a bit. But Ed was wiped out, and he didn't stir on the couch. Dr. Knox's eyes widened incredibly before Roy shut them away from the sleeping alchemist again. He didn't need anyone waking him up.

"Edward Elric," the doctor whispered in surprise. "You said he was dead."

"Everyone thought he was," Roy agreed evenly with a sigh. "Even he thought he was. However, although we are unaware of the circumstances, he was the one who came through and landed in that hole in our headquarters lawn. I thought it best to keep it quiet for now, just in case a lab decides they want to get a hold of him."

"Understandable," the man agreed, although he still seemed to be in a bit of shock. "What is it you want me to check?"

"He's bruised, badly, and probably very malnourished if his weight is anything to go by. But what we're worried about is his arm. I'm unsure if you know the circumstances, but Alphonse performed a transmutation that returned Ed's original arm to him. His arm appeared overtop of his metal port, but when he showed up yesterday . . ."

"His arm is missing again."

"Yes. And it wasn't cleanly missing. We're unsure of how to treat it until his mechanic arrives." Roy glanced towards the door again. "But he had a bit of a scare and he needs the rest, so are you free for the afternoon? I'd hate to wake him up after he finally went back to sleep."

"I've cancelled the remainder of my appointments for the day. I had a feeling when you called that I'd be tied up for several hours." Knox chuckled dryly as Mustang grimaced apologetically. "In any case, I owe it to Fullmetal. If it weren't for him, we'd all be dead and I would never have had the chance to reconcile with my wife.

"We are all indebted to him," Roy agreed quietly.

And he wasn't about the let the sacrifices Ed had made for them go to waste.

It was a good three hours before Roy, not stationed at his desk and signing papers, heard the young man stirring. Knox had made himself at home in the main office, and Roy found that once again, he was alone with Ed. He shouldn't have wanted the time as badly as he did, even if Ed wasn't even conscious. But he was grateful for the opportunity, nonetheless.

"Are you hungry?" he called as he rose from the desk, reaching for a tray that Fuery had brought back from the canteen.

"Starved," came the grumbly, sleep-riddled reply a moment later. "I think."

"You think?"

"Yeah. Can't tell if I'm hungry or queasy. I'mma go with hungry and hope for the best."

Messy hair appeared over the back of the couch as Ed sat up, seeming to be in less pain than he'd been in the last time he was awake. He was still heavily leaning against the side of the couch and the tightening around his eyes indicated he wasn't as good as he was making himself out to be, but at least it wasn't actually showing on his face this time. "Dr. Knox is here to look you over," Roy told him as he set the tray into his lap. "But I'll give you time to work through your food before I bring him in."

"Winry?"

"Same situation as before, I'm afraid. We're currently attempting to set up a civilian line within the office, but it's taking quite a bit of time."

The blonde sighed, impatient as always, but nodded his head regardless. At the very least, Ed wasn't going to make a big fuss about it. Of course, a moment later, Roy figured out why. He had something else on his mind.

"About earlier . . ."

"Don't worry about it," Mustang hurriedly interjected. "If we have to hide you again, we'll find a different way to do it. The desk isn't the only hiding spot in here."

". . . Are you going to ask me about it or what?"

"I am going to have to. We need all the information we can get in case we get caught." Roy ran fingers through his dark hair as he watched Ed cautiously pick up his spoon, gripping it awkwardly between bony fingers. "But not now. I want to see you in a better state first. Checked out, rested, full . . . showered."

Ed's nose wrinkled immediately at the thought. Not at the thought of showering itself, Roy was sure, but the process in which that was going to occur.

"You may not want to deal with it but you'll feel a lot better after you're clean." He sat on the arm of the couch opposite to Ed and watched him quietly while he tried to eat. His expressions were almost endearing; the way he recoiled at first against the overpowering flavors hitting his tongue again, despite it being bland military soup . . . the way his nose and forehead wrinkled as he slowly tried to adjust to that taste . . . Mustang didn't even realize he was staring until Ed's golden eyes swiveled around to look inquiringly at him.

"Can you still do alchemy the same way you used to?" Roy swiftly covered for himself, asking a question he knew would be easier to talk about. Or so he thought.

"I don't know." Ed's gaze dropped away solemnly.

"You haven't tried?"

"That isn't what I mean, I . . . what I offered to the Gate was . . ." He stopped and shook his head abruptly. "Never mind. I'll tell you about it later. When you ask your questions."

Roy's eyebrows raised. He hadn't understood much of his subordinate's halfhearted mumbling, but . . . was he saying that he hadn't meant to offer himself to the Gate in the first place? Had he offered another alternative only for the Gate to get greedy?

"I'll be right back," Ed had said three years ago as he stood within his circle and clapped his hands, an easy grin creasing his battle-worn features. "This is the last transmutation Edward Elric will ever do."

They'd always assumed Ed had intended to give himself up, just based off of what he'd said in that moment. But what if his actual intention was . . .

He opened his mouth to ask, but Ed abruptly handed back his tray. It was already cleaned of food; Roy hadn't even noticed him devouring it.

"I see your appetite hasn't suffered any losses," Mustang commented dryly as he took it from the slender hand.

"What would you expect? I haven't eaten in three years. Er . . . actually, I don't remember the last time I ate even then. Everything got so hectic." One shoulder rose and fell dismissively.

"Why don't you think on that while Knox looks you over?" Roy responded with a small chuckle. He'd ask Ed about the alchemy situation later, no matter what. And he certainly expected some sort of an answer.

The elder Elric immediately made a face and tried hiding under his covers; it reminded Roy rather apathetically that Ed actually hated doctors. Perfect. Knox would . . . definitely have his hands full this afternoon.

Except, as it turned out, Edward was in far more pain than he was letting on; he was surprisingly complacent as he was looked over. Mustang suspected a large part of it was also simply the young man's wanting to return to his peak health as soon as he possibly could. It had taken Al months to recover, though, and although he had been with the Gate for five years, Ed looked just as bad as his brother had coming through.

"It must run in the family," Knox commented sarcastically as he pressed a stethoscope carefully to Ed's chest. "Getting your bodies caught in other dimensions, that is."

"Just like you have a knack for being a shit to your patients," Ed grumbled back, squirming on the couch with the effort to remain still. At least, Roy observed from his desk, Ed seemed to have a lot more energy now.

"I could rat you out any time I want. I deserve to be a shit in return." Knox raised an eyebrow at the young man pointedly before he stepped back and glanced to Roy. "As we've already assumed, he's underfed and lacking in physical exercise. I imagine he'll spring back from that with no time, considering how he's done in the past. Just try and sneak in some better food than your military rations once in a while, hmm?" The stethoscope was placed to the side. "Now for what you really called me for. Let's see your leg first, Ed."

This was the reason Roy had asked for the rest of his team to remain out in the office, in spite of their own concern; Ed was looking reluctant, and clearly uncomfortable. If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that Ed did not like others looking at his scars. They didn't embarrass him; Ed was too prideful for that. Roy didn't know why he didn't like it, exactly. Regardless, it was to their (likely limited) luck that after a moment's hesitation, Ed drew back the blanket to let Knox take a look.

"Has the General informed you that pieces of your automail leg were found at the site of your transmutation circle?" Knox asked professionally as he rolled up the pants Ed had been loaned, prodding at the area where skin met metal. Ed's face twisted into a soft grimace, but that pain was likely nothing new; Roy had often seen the young man pause to grip at his shoulder or beneath his knee when he thought no one was looking. He just currently seemed to have a lower tolerance than he normally had for that sort of pain.

"No," Ed answered, and directed a sullen look at Roy. He shrugged in reply. In the grand scheme of things, he hadn't thought it to be a very important factor.

"I'm no automail expert but nothing looks missing on this end," Knox continued, continuing to poke around for a minute. "When you get a hold of Miss Rockbell, however, I would ask her to fit you with a lighter leg for now. The arm too, depending on how that works out. At least until you gain back that strength you've lost. It might be too heavy for you right now."

"He was using a lighter set at the time he went missing," Roy supplied, remembering the switch he'd had to make up at Briggs. "One more suited to the northern winters. Ed, didn't you say they were more comfortable to use?"

Dark eyes shifted over to look at him, quietly contemplative for a moment, and Roy found himself lost in them for one silent moment before the young man grunted in reply and turned back to watching Knox. "Yeah. Was able to stay alive a couple times cause of them."

"Sounds like you should suggest Winry bring another set like that then," Knox agreed, sitting back in his chair to reach for Ed's arm now. Ed immediately reached out and tugged the pant leg back down over his stump, scowling all the while.

The room fell quiet, and Roy reluctantly looked back down at the mound of paperwork loitering on his desk to distract himself. Ed was beginning to notice his staring, and honestly even _he_ felt a little ashamed by it. Why was he staring, anyway? Not because Ed was there anymore. He'd used that excuse up. Ed had been here for nearly a day at this point; he was used to him being on that couch now. He'd already accepted the reality that he was there in the first place. But he didn't really have a reason, otherwise. Just that Ed, yes, had some sort of allure to him, whether it be physical or philosophical. But he couldn't explain that to the alchemist.

So the better option, unfortunately, was to simply pretend he wasn't at all attracted to Edward Elric.

Easier said than done.

A soft growl of pain had Roy moving up and out of his seat in order to step over to the couch. Ed hated to give off any indication that he was ever in pain, to dangerous levels. The fact that he hadn't been able to hold back that indication that something was wrong meant that he really must have been hurting. After all, he had essentially lost a limb . . . _again_. Roy had a sinking feeling that Ed's automail was going to need a little more maintenance than they'd hoped it would take.

Knox had unwrapped the haphazardly-done bandages from Fullmetal's chest and shoulder. It looked worse now than it had the first time Roy had seen it; some of the blood had congealed around the exposed ports, shining a dark black in the light of the room. And in some areas, Roy could hardly tell what was flesh and what was metal.

Ed's own eyes were carefully directed at the back of the couch, an uncomfortable grimace on his face as Knox solemnly touched at what was left of the limb.

"Your mechanic," Knox said eventually, sitting back, "is she also the one who performed your surgery?"

The blonde shook his head, glancing at the doctor with a guarded expression. "She helped but Granny's the one who knows the big bits."

Knox glanced at Mustang then, tossing the soiled bandages in the waste bin. "When you get in touch with the Rockbells, please inform them that both of them are going to be needed. It looks a mess but it can be fixed. Just very delicately." The doctor looked to Ed again pointedly. "Not that you can do much, but do the best you can to stay still until your mechanic can get here. You got that?"

"'S fucking boring though," Ed mumbled halfheartedly.

"I'd like to hear you say that after I flush out your wound. Your protective plate is missing so your nerves are going to get hit. It'll hurt like hell. Mustang, could you bring some warm water and several towels? Ah, and some clean bandages."

Roy grimaced at the thought and gave his subordinate an apologetic look.

* * *

Ed was sleeping again, face drawn and pale, when Hawkeye knocked on the door and stated quietly, "We've been able to set up the civilian line. We suggest you call for Winry quickly before someone else tries to come in and question you. They'll want to know what we need with a civilian line that we couldn't do on our regular line."

"Understood. Keep a watch on him while I make the call."

"Sir."

Roy was immensely glad that Knox was gone by now; he'd made a joke out of the entire situation and although both he and Ed knew that it was an attempt to help relax the atmosphere, it had the opposite effect. The gruff old man was well on his way back to his house now, however, and the General sank down into a desk chair with a sigh as he rang a number he'd memorized years ago.

"Rockbell Automail," a youthful voice piped up on the other end, slightly frazzled. Roy smiled faintly; they must have had a lot of customers at the moment.

"Winry."

"Oh . . . General Mustang? What's wrong, has something happened? Did you get another promotion? Or . . . Al?"

She was so hopeful that Al would return, even now. The faint smile that had crossed his face moments before fell as he answered quietly, "I'm afraid we still have seen nothing of Al. I would hope to think he'd come to you before ever coming back here, in any case."

"Worth a shot, though. So in other words, you did get promoted?"

"Not this time," he laughed softly, mindful of the one sleeping one room over. "We are actually having a bit of a situation in Central Headquarters at the moment. I actually called because we're in need of your skills. Yours and your grandmother's."

"Ours? But . . . surely there are automail mechanics in Central?"

Roy cleared his throat. "There are. But we need you specifically. As it happens, we've had a large alchemical explosion drop right down onto our lawn, and it er . . . brought something with it."

"Something?"

"More like someone, specifically . . ."

He received silence on the other end for a good minute, and Roy was beginning to think she'd decided to hang up on him. After all, she knew full and well what he was implying.

". . . Ed?" she finally whispered.

"Wonderboy himself," Mustang confirmed.

"You . . . You've got to be kidding me. He's _dead_. We all . . . Alphonse said . . . Gr . . . Granny! Granny, get on the other line!" Her voice went shrill, halfway between hysterical and excited. Mustang couldn't tell which.

"This better be good," Pinako sounded, her gravelly voice not exactly amused at the moment.

"Mustang said Ed's alive," Winry half cried into the receiver before Roy had a chance to say anything. "He can't be, though, right? Al said the Gate said it was keeping him in exchange . . ."

"We don't know the details quite yet," Roy confirmed to them both; Pinako had gone silent aside from a sharp intake of breath. "Ed's much like Al was; very thin and badly injured, so I've been waiting to question him. But I can fully confirm that it is, in fact, Edward. The only thing he's really said so far is that the Gate was toying with him."

"Oh my God . . ." Winry breathed. "Can . . . Can I talk to him?"

"He's unavailable at the moment. Dr. Knox was by to see him not too long ago. But that is why we need you two."

"You mean his automail? That's right, he'll need an entirely new leg! You mentioned you found pieces of the automail near the battleground . . . but why do you need Granny too? I can handle Ed's leg just fine on my own."

"Did Al tell you he was able to get Ed's arm back?"

"Yeah, he kept . . . he kept crying and saying it was unfair. That he got it back and then the Gate just kept him anyway."

"Thing is . . ." Roy hesitated, but he needed to get the truth out to them as soon as possible so they could be there as soon as possible. "It's even more unfair than that, Winry. When the Gate gave him his arm back, his automail had snapped off, but the arm went over the ports. They were still in his arm and built on his skeleton."

"So you need Granny to check over and make sure it's not going to affect how his arm works?"

". . . No. The Gate took his arm again."

For the second time within the space of five minutes, Roy was greeted with silence as his reply. He sat, waiting patiently although his eyes remained locked on the front door as if expecting someone to barge in unannounced and demand what they were doing on the phone. But he knew that Winry and Pinako needed time to digest this information.

"What is the damage?" Pinako finally asked, all business as usual.

"We had Dr. Knox take a look at him to assess for ourselves. Simply put, the Gate removed the arm at the same point that it was removed the first time. But as I understand it, when you installed the automail ports, you had to amputate further. That part of the arm is still there."

"Over the shoulder port," Winry realized. "I . . . don't even know if that's still salvageable."

"Knox is no automail expert but he says that it's possible. He very firmly suggested that Pinako come along, and expressed concerns of Ed coming to Resembool. He wants it to remain in Central. Frankly, I would prefer it as well. We're keeping everything under wraps right now. If the military find out that Ed was at the center of the reaction that occurred outside, there will be far too many questions."

"But—"

"Understood," Pinako stated. "We'll be on the train first thing in the morning. How is he doing?"

"Physically he is dealing," Roy admitted. "Mentally, we are still unsure of how stable he is. He had a fright when we hid him under my desk. We had an unwelcome intrusion and didn't expect him to react how he did. But it's Ed. And Ed's strong."

"He'd never let anything stop him," Winry breathed, and Roy made a noise of agreement.

"Ah, Knox also suggested that you build automail like the ones you equipped him with at Briggs. It will be easier until he gains weight back."

"G-Got it. You're really sure, Mustang? You're sure it's him?"

Roy smiled, understanding her shock. He'd known from the moment he'd seen that motionless form at the bottom of the crater that it was Ed, but he had to keep reminding himself that he was there for hours after. "What other golden-eyed brat do you know with a missing arm and leg that shoots out curses the moment they wake up?"

"That's Ed," Pinako chuckled in amusement. "You've got our word, Mustang. We'll be there as soon as we can."

"I'm grateful."

He pressed the phone back to its cradle and nodded at Hawkeye, who immediately stepped forward with Fuery to dismantle the civilian line. A quick peek inside of his office told him that Ed was still soundly asleep, although his color seemed a little better now. Satisfied on that front, he turned back to his men and breathed out a long, tired sigh.

"Let's get this mess wrapped up."

* * *

The little office was packed, the front door locked for the night; it was the best time to let everyone think they had all gone home. But they hadn't, and Ed sat in the middle of all of them, upright on the couch with a guarded look and a plate of food on his lap.

"No guarantees," he growled, biting into a bread roll.

"Ed," Roy stated patiently, sliding his chair closer to the young man with a frown, "You know we need this information for our report later."

"And you know that almost none of that info is actually gonna go in your report," he pointed out evenly, eyes narrowed. "Any signs of human transmutation and I'll be kicked out of the military."

"We still need _something_ to tell them. Which means you need to be honest. Leave the storytelling to me and you'll be fine with the process. But we need a good reason to explain why you were MIA for three years or they'll think you did fully desert the army."

The blonde sighed in clear annoyance, but he didn't protest further. Roy took this as a sign that they could move ahead and crossed his legs, leaning back in his chair. Next to him, Falman ruffled through some papers, pen poised in his hand.

He got straight to the point. "Earlier, you mentioned that you had offered something else to the Gate, not yourself. This entire time we've been under the impression that you offered your life for Al's body and soul. Was this not the case?"

"Bastard, that's got nothing to do with a report."

"You said you'd tell me, Ed."

Ed let out a longsuffering sigh and dropped what was left of his roll back onto the tray. "I tried to give the Gate my alchemy."

Roy blinked in surprise. Of all the things he'd expected Ed to offer up, that was the thing he least expected. At the same time . . . alchemy was such an important thing to the Elric brothers that it should have been a more than fair trade. Ed had been extremely clever to think of it. "Why didn't it work?"

Ed's one shoulder rose and fell in a shrug. "Hell if I know. I thought it did. The Gate grinned and said I'd won. Then it dragged me through while it pushed Al out."

"Did you consider that perhaps the Gate considered both you and alchemy to be the same thing?" Hawkeye stated. "After all, you're an exceptional alchemist. The Gate knows that. More than knows, considering you've been more than willing to approach it over and over again."

"Yeah, I figured that was probably its reasoning. Not that it was fair." Ed scowled at the thought. "I was ready to give it up."

"But now you've got your own life as well as Al's all while still maintaining your alchemy," Breda (unhelpfully) pointed out.

"For now," was Ed's quiet response, and that was all they got out of that line of questioning.

"Have you been manipulated by the Gate in any way?"

Golden eyes rolled in exasperation. "Like I'd ever let that happen. Fucker tried to get through to me all the time but it never worked." He paused. "The darkness might be terrifying but it never overtook anyone."

Roy imagined that was going to be the only admittance Ed would give that he was actually scared of the dark after that. He didn't ask anything further about what had happened under the desk, nor did he ever intend to. He was trying to understand what happened, not hurt Ed in any way.

Instead, Roy nodded curtly. "I've asked you already, I believe, but why did the Gate release you?"

"Dunno. I kind of think it's bored. But there could actually be something going on that it can't handle in the form it's in. If there's one thing I figured out, it's that the Gate can't physically interact with the world. It can only manipulate it from afar through those that have seen it. Through human weakness."

"And has it said anything to you since you've returned?"

"It's not in my head or anything, Mustang. Look, if you want a story to give to the military, one of the men working for Father got a hold of me and took off before the end of the battle. I just got away. Explains everything. I've had plenty of damn time to think it out, just in case. Still planned to get the hell out of there as soon as I could."

Honestly . . . Honestly, it sounded as though Ed knew about as much as the rest of them did in the end. The Gate had simply kept him for those three years—time that Ed himself didn't even know had passed—and had decided one day to spit him out.

It just happened to spit him out three years to the day when it had taken him, and Roy wasn't buying for a split second that the thing didn't have something up its sleeve.

"One last thing for now," he said finally, leaning forward in his chair to look the young man over seriously. "You've been essentially living in the Gate's darkness for this long . . . that is more than long enough to drive a man insane. So, Ed . . . do you think you are still of sound mind?"

And Ed Elric, in his ever-so-eloquent way, snorted and gave Roy a grin. "Since when have I ever been of sound mind?"

* * *

Going to answer a couple reviews down here whenever I post a new chapter! Thank you so much for the feedback so far on this story!

Bob (guest) - I'm glad you think this feels like the anime/manga! One of my goals is always to make it feel like it's connected.

Kas3y - I'm so glad you're hooked, I hope I can keep you entertained as I continue to publish chapters!


	5. Military

By the third day, Ed's patience—and by extension, the rest of the office's—had worn thin. He might have been down two limbs, but that didn't make him entirely useless, after all. And if there was one thing that the alchemist hated, more than almost anything else (except Mustang. Sort of), it was sitting still. He'd done that for three years already, listening to the Gate's constant taunts and attempts to get through to him. He wasn't about to sit around even _more_ now that he was free of that place.

And in any case, the dark, brooding eyes that constantly bored into the back of his head were driving him crazy.

Mustang was always watching him now, those eyes following his every move from behind that annoyingly large desk. It was like he was waiting for him to make some sort of mistake, at least, that was how Ed perceived it. But . . . not the kind of mistake that would cause Mustang to lock him up or anything. The Flame Alchemist would never let that happen to any of his men. It was more . . . more the kind of mistake that would give a sign. A sign that Ed didn't want to give. He wasn't sure how to react to those glances aside from simply ignoring them, and hoping that Mustang wasn't actually staring because of his current . . . less-than-stellar appearance. If he had known Mustang _was_ staring for that reason, just in a much more positive light than Ed saw himself in, he might have instead dared to stare straight back.

It wasn't like Ed hadn't felt some sort of pull towards the Colonel in the past—no, the _General_ now. He kept forgetting, kept having to remind himself how long it had been since the Gate had swallowed him whole. The older he had grown, the more he found himself spouting righteous hatred of the man to every single living, breathing thing. Not out of spite any longer, but instead just to keep up appearances. They were in the military anyway; it would be breaking code to fraternize with fellow soldiers. They were both men, and last he'd checked, Roy Mustang loved his one-night stands. And—most importantly—Mustang was _several_ years his senior. It would pass, Ed had told himself repeatedly: it was a passing fancy as his body started to change and he became . . . _aware_ of certain things. But even now, three years later, and Ed found himself awkwardly enraptured, ensnared by Mustang's movements, his closeness. The depth of their many conversations.

He hated it. He wanted to move on. Mustang would never see him in that way and he knew it. They'd met when he was _eleven_ , for fuck's sake. It wasn't like him to want someone he couldn't have. Except it was, because he always wanted the things he'd been told he couldn't have. He needed a distraction because it was _not_ helping when Roy Mustang was breathing down his throat literally every chance he got.

So he may or may not have transmuted a crutch out of an old, empty bookcase (Roy wasn't using it) . . . and he may or may not have used said crutch to hobble out on one leg into the main office area. But who would know for sure? It was well after midnight, and for once—for fucking once—everyone had gone home to their own beds. All of them . . . Mustang included. And that meant he had time to think through things without being interrupted every five minutes by a concerned soldier.

On the plus side, he . . . was alive, albeit not _well_ at the moment. That was certainly one good thing up his sleeve. And the Gate didn't seem to be in his head or anything after it spat him out. Ed didn't know if that sort of thing were even possible, but either way, he was allowed to think for himself without that thing's influence.

Not that he listened to orders anyway.

But. On the other hand, he didn't know if the Gate was going to take him back in the end. He didn't know what the hell the Gate wanted him to do. And Al was . . . missing, essentially. He'd moved on with his life like what had happened never did. And it hurt to think about it. He'd always, _always_ had Al at his side. Now, suddenly, he was in this situation by himself. And it was his fault, all of it. Because even though he was alone, he knew Al was alive . . .

But Ed had left his brother thinking he was never coming back, and he couldn't forgive himself for doing that to him.

So. Either way, there were ups and downs to the situation Ed now found himself in. He could work with that. Just as soon as Granny and Winry arrived, anyway. The way he was at the moment, the Gate was probably somewhere nearby cackling with amusement. Stupid damn Gate.

He found himself standing in front of the empty coffee machine (it hadn't even moved in the three years he was gone), determined to do something for himself. So far, everything he'd wanted or needed, someone provided for him. But that wasn't Ed. He was independent, and he'd felt more dependent in the last three days than he had in his entire life. And he wanted some coffee, and he was going to make some damn coffee without anyone's hand helping him.

He did pretty well, too; leaning against the table by a hip, he was able to get the water into the top and set the pot under the machine. But when he reached for the grounds, the bag was nearly empty. There was another bag next to it, of course; Mustang and his men could never go too long without coffee. Damn them for getting him attached to it too. But the bag was unopened, and with only one hand . . .

"Need some help?"

Ed jumped, and likely would have dropped the bag of grounds if he had been holding it. As it was he nearly fell as he swiveled his head around to stare at the man standing in the doorway. "Why the hell are you here?" he demanded, picking up the bag.

Roy Mustang shrugged, his eyes on him in that same infuriating way as always. He wished he'd stayed blind. Kind of. Okay, not really. But _still_. "Was waiting until the halls were empty. We're going to move you out of the office and somewhere that the Rockbells can work on you in private. Besides, I'm tired of you mooching on my couch."

But his eyes said he wasn't.

Ed just scowled, frustrated because his alone time had been interrupted yet again.

"Let me—"

"I'm perfectly capable of opening it on my own, old man," he growled, hoisting the bag up and under his armpit. He then promptly tore the top of the bag off . . . with his teeth. As long as it got the job done without relying on him, anyway. He spat the top of the bag onto the floor unceremoniously and turned to pour the grounds into the pot. "Functioning with one arm seems to be a lifelong aspiration of mine anyway."

"Impressive." And indeed, Mustang did sound rather impressed.

"Damn straight."

"I'm also impressed by your apparent need to move around in spite of Knox's orders to stay still," Mustang smoothly added. Ed ignored the jab. It wasn't like he ever listened to anyone anyway, right? It was boring. "What did you use for your crutch?"

"Shelf off that old bookcase in your office." He set the bag down. "I'll put it back later. Or something."

"You don't have anything to tie your hair back with, do you?"

". . . Huh?"

He hadn't expected the sudden change in topic, and he certainly hadn't expected Mustang to mention anything about his _hair_ of all things . . . especially when they had just been talking about his artfully-made crutch (if he did say so himself). It was true, once he thought about it, though; no one had given him a hair tie. It wasn't like he could put it all up with one hand anyway. That was outside of even his skill level. He hadn't even bothered to ask because of that. He was just glad he'd been able to wash and comb it. He'd have to get it cut or trimmed at least; the golden mane trailed all the way down to the small of his back now.

Leaning carefully against the desk, he raised his hand to finger his hair with a frown. "What about it?"

Mustang sighed, long and drawn out in clear annoyance. "I'm asking if you want it up, Ed," he responded, stepping into the office and shutting the door behind him.

He didn't want to answer, because he would have to point out that he couldn't do it on his own. Luckily for him, the coffee seemed to be done at that moment, and he eagerly took the distraction, fumbling out for a clean mug to pour it in.

When he felt hands in his hair, he immediately stiffened, splaying the hand out hurriedly against the desk for balance. "What the hell are you—"

He bit his lip, and hurriedly, as Mustang gathered the long locks into his gloved hands, tugging and gently pulling until it was up high on his head. It wasn't until he heard the snap of the hairband that he really registered what was happening. Roy Mustang, the Colonel Bastard, was putting his hair up for him. Rather well, on top of that, or at least, better than Ed himself had ever managed. Even with both hands his braids and ponytails had been sloppy at best; the automail wasn't the greatest for fine-tuned details like working with hair. But Roy was settling his thick hair into a high ponytail like he'd done something of the sort all his life, and Ed wasn't sure whether to relax and let him finish or jerk away before he thought something else might come of it.

Before he had the chance to figure it out, Mustang stepped back and into Ed's view, sporting a self-satisfied smirk. What a dick. "Don't thank me all at once now, Fullmetal."

"I never said I wanted you to do it," he snapped before he could stop himself, dragging the coffee mug closer to him.

"In that case, would you like me to take—"

"No." He frowned, trying to will away the blush that cropped up on his cheeks. Luckily there were no lights on in the office or he would have really had a problem. The last thing he wanted Mustang to know was that he had a _crush_ on him. But he then grudgingly added, "Thanks."

The other man stepped away, much to his relief, but only to grab a mug and pour himself a steaming cup as well. "The least you could do is ask." One dark eyebrow raised. He was trying to make a point. It wasn't working very well.

"I'd rather just leave it down," Ed answered bluntly, taking a long pull at what was in his own mug. It was piping hot and nearly burned his tongue but at this point he didn't care. It felt good to finally have that sensation again. Any sensation felt good. Except perhaps the pain in his shoulder, but he could live with that anyway.

"Why am I not surprised?"

"When will Winry and Granny be here?" he asked instead, staring down at one or two magazines sitting on the desk next to the coffee. Military magazines, of course, and probably tactfully placed there; he knew none of Mustang's men actually _read_ shit like that. "Fuhrer Grumman: The New Generation" and "Political Intrigue: The Bradleys' Story" didn't sound altogether too appeasing. If they were still writing about the deceased Fuhrer, they must have really been out of things to take up an interest in.

"They're on the train now. That's why I want to get you moved before too many people are out and about." Roy paused, glancing down at his leg. "You do want to get checked out as soon as possible, don't you?"

If Ed could hide the offending leg from view, he would have in a heartbeat. Even if Mustang didn't judge him for it, even if none of the men here judged him for it, it still felt like it. He was used to the stares enough from the people of Resembool. Pity, curiosity, in some cases even disgust. It made him look and feel weak. And the last thing he wanted to think of himself as was weak.

So he turned away, back to the coffee to pour himself another mug. "We've got time."

"Not if you keep going back for more coffee."

"Says the one that got a mug himself. Addict."

"Yes, well. Considering it's my coffee, I thought I'd be allowed. Apparently not. How _short-_ sighted of me."

" _Shut up_."

"Ed."

He turned back around, glancing to Mustang's suddenly serious expression. He really needed to stop the whiplash subject changes. It was entirely unlike Mustang to be so scatterbrained. Well, scatterbrained wasn't the right word, was it? He couldn't think of the right word, but he didn't understand it. What he was up to. He pursed his lips into a frown and sat gingerly against the edge of the desk as he nursed his coffee. "What?"

The General didn't answer at first, just looked at him. Not at his leg, or his arm, but at his face, in his eyes, and as much as Ed felt compelled to turn away, he found himself staring back into darkness of a different sort than the Gate. A darkness he could get used to.

"I didn't want to ask with the others in the room, because they don't understand alchemy. But you and I do, better than most, isn't that right?"

Edward Elric was known as a prodigy in the world of alchemy, even without having seen the Truth. He was eleven when he tried to transmute his mother. The fact that he had been able to piece together what most life-long alchemists could never hope to said something in and of itself. But Roy Mustang was a prodigy in his own right. He wasn't as well-rounded as Ed was, no. He had chosen to focus on one particular aspect of a sort of alchemy that could be incredibly dangerous if put in the wrong hands. It was why no one else would ever be able to have that opportunity. And Mustang knew precisely how to use it.

It was because of this that he knew exactly what Mustang was about to ask.

He drew in a soft breath and waited for the words to leave his lips.

"What did the Gate show you?"

All that time, all that darkness, all the taunts the Truth, _his_ Truth had thrown at him. But that was not all he had gained from the darkness, from the Gate. Because Ed's mind was stronger than the Gate's terror, and he had dug. Deep, down, he had sifted through the Gate's knowledge, because there was nothing else he could do. He knew things now, about alchemy, that no one should ever know. In the wrong hands, in the wrong eyes, it could wreak destruction on Amestris. On the entire world.

Ed trusted Mustang.

But he was not going to let any of that information pass his lips.

"The Gate didn't show me anything," he answered curtly. "I took from it without its permission. But I am not saying what I took. Don't ask again." He swallowed a mouthful of bitter coffee. "What I learned is not something this world can have."

And he'd die with those secrets. He wouldn't even tell Al. Not because he didn't trust his brother. Not because he didn't trust Mustang.

But rather, because he didn't trust himself.

His fingers itched to try the alchemy out for himself, to see what it would do under his careful control. If he told someone, surely he would have to _show_ them too. And if he used that power, he might never want to stop. Because when he thought about all the lives that had been sacrificed for his sake, it made him want to throw up. The lengths he and Al had gone to just to get their—well, Al's alone now—bodies back sometimes gave him nightmares. And to think that he could rectify that . . .

No, it was best he never breathed a word of it aloud.

"Does it have something to do with human transmutation?" Mustang asked, like Ed knew he would.

He pursed his lips.

"You can't bring back the dead, bastard," he lied. "There's nothing you can trade for a human life."

And luckily, the General seemed satisfied by that.

"Go ahead and finish your coffee," he said instead, changing the subject once again. Only this time, Ed was extremely grateful for it. "I take it you're going to be too stubborn for my offered help to the other room?"

And—oh God—Ed hesitated. Because as much as he wanted to vehemently deny that he needed _any_ sort of help and how dare anyone thing he couldn't do it on his own . . . he wasn't entirely sure how far one leg and a crutch could get him. There was only so much hopping a malnourished cripple could do before they ran out of steam, after all. But accepting help from the bastard sounded fucking tedious. Like he'd owe him yet _another_ favor. A favor and 520 cenz. Which, for the record, he wasn't going to pay back. It was damn stupid.

"Depends on how far it is," he reasoned finally, draining the vestiges of his cup and glancing in disconcertion at its lack of contents. The pot was empty now too.

"Let's just say it's not exactly a walk in the park for someone in your state," he answered, along with an infuriatingly _sexy_ laugh. Ed drew in a breath, pressing back against the desk for as long as he could manage it. He couldn't stand him. He couldn't stand how fucking _suave_ he could be, and tempting, and . . . just, everything that Ed had secretly wanted for years now.

He swallowed thickly and banished the thoughts to the back of his mind, next to the forbidden alchemy nestled there. It was just as off-limits, anyway.

But he still (reluctantly) accepted the help.

Icarus knew the warnings before he flew too close to the sun too.

* * *

"—ss . . . Boss. Hey. Yo, anyone in there?"

A hand darting in front of his face had Ed tearing his gaze away from his book to blink owlishly up at Havoc. The Lieutenant was leaning over the couch expectantly with one eyebrow raised. Naturally, he had a guard. Even if no one knew he was at Central headquarters (yet) they had to be careful. Hell, he was even placed in Mustang's own quarters in the dormitories. The man never used them (and they were ridiculously extravagant) but it was the ideal hiding place until he could be reinstated.

Ed had wanted to bury himself into familiarity after he'd moved to the room that they had set up for him. There had been too many thoughts running through his head; thoughts of Mustang and the Gate and altogether inappropriate things that someone in his condition shouldn't have even been _thinking_ of. After all that, he just needed something he was comfortable with. Something that he could understand easily. The Basics of Alchemy. The initial book any person striving to learn alchemy needed to read. And it was so incredibly ironic, now that Ed knew so many things about it, how wrong the book was in the end. How little it made sense. It made sense to him as a child. But what he had dragged from the Gate with him . . . put to shame anything in the book.

"What?" he grumbled irritably, turning the book face down on his lap to glare up at Havoc.

"The Rockbells just arrived in Central. We're sneaking them in now. Figured you'd want to know before they bust all up in here without knocking."

"Fucking finally," he groaned, running his fingers through his long fringes. It would be . . . quite a while before he managed a new arm fitting, but at least he could get a new leg and move around on his own. Perhaps then the alchemical reaction issue would have been solved and he could mysteriously return to his position. Because goddamn was he bored out of his mind . . .

When the door creaked open half an hour later, he was up and on his one foot, hopping around in the tiny kitchen as he scrounged for something to eat. Mustang had left a few things in there for his benefit but he was _starving_. Naturally, that flew out the window as soon as Winry and Granny arrived. Some things were a little more important.

He turned, leaning against the kitchen counter, as a blonde head very hesitantly slid through the small opening the door made.

"Yo," he said casually, holding up his hand in a wave.

Considering the circumstances, he figured creating a situation that was fairly _normal_ was the best way to go. Par the fact that he was currently missing two limbs . . .

And Winry's blue eyes widened as she looked at him, pushed the door open, and flung herself into his chest. "Oh, Ed," she breathed, arms tight (almost too tight) around him. "What the hell, do you like making us worry about you?"

"It's not like I ever intend to," he answered dryly, not sure whether to hug back or just let her have at it. In the end he settled for giving her a couple hearty pats on the back. He knew she'd probably been through a shock.

"I-I just . . . you were dead, Ed, you've been dead for three years, and suddenly Mustang calls us and tells us you need . . ." She paused and looked at him with her teary eyes. "You still only call us when you need an automail repair, though. That's a little fucked up."

Havoc barked a laugh from his spot in the corner and Ed leveled a fierce glare on the man. It wasn't that funny. At least, he didn't think so at all. "I didn't even suggest to call you this time, though, considerin' I was half dead and all," he pointed out. Never mind the fact that he _would_ have, though, given the chance.

He glanced over as the door opened again and a short, wizened old lady stated, "I see you shrank again."

"That's funny because there's a fucking huge gap between us now."

"Pipsqueak."

"Midget."

Granny Pinako smiled then, taking the pipe out of her mouth to say in earnest, "It's good to have you back, Edward."

He managed a small smile of relief. "Missed you, Granny."

And he did, he really did. He missed everyone. He hadn't appreciated them enough. That was what he always told himself while he was with the Gate. He'd run off and had taken everyone for granted. What had Granny thought when he decided to get automail? When he became a State Alchemist? She'd stated her opinions. He'd ignored them. And while he didn't regret his decisions, he really should have respected hers a little more. He would try harder, now, to take care of what had taken care of him when he needed it. Well, when he still needed it, especially.

"You're skin and bones," Winry murmured, finally stepping back away from him. In her arms, she clung to two large suitcases, and Ed imagined they brought even more with them than that. If they were going to have to work extensively on the shoulder port, they would have practically packed up their house. "Please tell me they haven't been giving your canteen food, Ed . . ."

"Don't have much of a choice while I'm here," he pointed out, turning to dig through the near-empty cupboards once more. "Relax, Winry, it's not like I'm a fuckin' prisoner." He found a pack of crackers and yanked them out with a quick smirk of victory. "We're just keeping it on the quiet cause the Bastard thinks they'll drag me off to a lab if they find out I came from the crater out there."

"I don't understand, though. How come you didn't just come back to Resembool? It's not like you can . . . or _wa—_ " She stopped abruptly and sucked in a breath. "You don't want to, right? I mean, you got Al's body back. And then there was all that crap with the politics and the upper echelon . . ."

"Well, it isn't like there's anything else for me."

"There's _home_."

Ed frowned. He had already known Winry would try this. He'd known about Winry's feelings for him for a long time now. He'd somehow hoped she would have moved on since he'd . . . passed on, so to speak. But that apparently wasn't the case. Balancing carefully against the counter, he looked into her eyes and said calmly, "Resembool hasn't been home since Mom died."

They all knew it, too. He hadn't _had_ a home since his mother had died. He and Al's parents were dead. And Al had left to make a new home for himself. He understood why Al hadn't wanted to go back to Resembool. He understood completely, and that was why he was actually happy that Al had made the decision to leave Amestris. His brother knew he would never be satisfied here. Ed had been his home, and Ed himself knew that. For Ed, his mother had been where home was. Now he was a floater, and until he knew what he wanted to do . . .

"The military isn't so bad now that Grumman is Fuhrer, anyway," he added with an easy shrug.

"But _Ed_ . . ."

"That's enough, Winry," Pinako finally stated. Ed couldn't really understand what the look in the old woman's eyes was, but he had a feeling that for once . . . she might get where he was coming from. "Let's give him some space so he can eat and get comfortable before we take a look. The last thing we need is a midget spitting fire while we poke around."

And honestly, at that moment, Ed couldn't have been more grateful for the insult, because at least it got her off of his back for the time being.

It took some time before he was really comfortable enough for Granny to be willing to look. By that time, Mustang had somehow managed to pull himself away from his office to come and observe. This seemed to aggravate Winry, but really, Ed felt entirely awkward about the entire situation. Particularly considering he was in nothing but his boxers now which . . . wasn't exactly his favorite pastime. At least, not in public.

But . . . on top of that, the General had never seen them work on him before. Like a machine. And he wondered if somehow, he would think differently of him after seeing it.

He flinched uncomfortably as Pinako prodded at the port of his leg, much like Dr. Knox had. But Pinako knew _where_ to poke at, and it hurt worse. She knew what she needed to be checking.

"No real damage here, just a little rust that can be taken care of," she commented calmly after a little while.

Mustang snorted. Havoc downright laughed. "I guess we could say," the Lieutenant cackled, "that Ed's gotten a bit . . . _rusty_ at keeping up with his automail."

Ed glared.

Havoc shut up.

"We can give you a temporary prosthetic in a day or two," was the final decision, "and we'll get started on making you a new limb. The doctor suggested the carbon fiber outfit, yes?"

"Why can't I have the temporary one now?" he sighed in frustration. He wanted to be on his feet. He was getting so antsy. Hopping around on one leg wasn't exactly fun.

Mustang seemed slightly affronted by the thought; Ed thought that of _course_ the fucker wouldn't want him running around again. It wasn't like he ever did anything wrong on purpose. Well, except when he did.

Luckily for Mustang, Pinako didn't like the idea either. "If you're anything like Al, you're very sensitive to touch and pain now. I'd rather wait for a day or two to see how you're going to handle it. Last thing we want is you keeling over from an automail issue. In the meantime we'll get to work on your other leg." She tapped her pipe thoughtfully against the flesh and blood limb. "Stretch that out so I can get your measurements. Then we'll get to looking at that arm."

He really wanted to protest. _Really_ wanted to protest. But Granny was not someone he could seriously win against, not where his health was concerned. So instead, Ed scowled and leaned back against the couch, directing his infuriated glare towards Mustang. The man hadn't done anything wrong. But he still felt like he was the best person in the room to take out his metaphorical wrath on.

The sound that Winry made when they pulled the bandages away from his shoulder was disheartening, to say the least. Ed was secretly hoping that she'd just smack him over the head with her wrench and chastise him for being too careless. But no, she had to make it sound like there was actually something wrong. Great.

"This is . . ."

"Knox said that you should be able to salvage it," Mustang spoke up from his seat nearby. Ed glanced over briefly; the General was leaning forward, looking on in quiet concern. Alchemy was . . . difficult without his automail, to say the least. The military might not want to keep him if he couldn't perform at the same level he used to. Ed realized this concern at the same moment that Mustang voiced it out loud.

After a moment, Pinako nodded. "It is going to be a very delicate process, but we can work with it." She looked at Ed and stated gravely, "I'll have to put you under for it. No buts. It's going to take several hours to get this mess sorted out and all the concentration I've got. You gritting your teeth and tensing up all the time isn't going to help you at all."

"I handled the automail attachment just fi— _fucking hell!_ '"

He struggled to keep from curling up as Pinako tapped at one of the exposed nerve attachments. Fire had shot straight through him, the likes of which he was pretty sure he'd only felt one time before. Sadly, he conceded, she was right. He was going to have to do what she said.

Besides, he really wanted his arm back. He might have been used to this one-handed business but that didn't mean he was okay with it.

"What do you propose?" Mustang questioned eventually, turning his gaze inquisitively to the old woman.

She stared at Ed coolly for a moment before she answered. "He's going to need recovery time. And you need to keep him hidden. We can do the surgery to fix the mess of his shoulder and we can get him on two legs again, but as soon as he's well enough to be moved, let him come back to Resembool." She held up her hand as Ed immediately began to protest. "I will ship him back to Central when I think he is fit for duty. By that time, you should have a convincing excuse to have Ed return to work, am I correct?"

For a moment, Mustang looked like he wanted to protest . . . like he was searching for a reason to keep Ed in Central. Ed wished he'd find one. He didn't—couldn't—go back to Resembool again. His brother wasn't with him. His mother wasn't with him. He couldn't stand to be there on his own.

But after a moment, the General sighed, running gloved fingers through his hair. "Alright. At least keep me updated. I'm sure Fullmetal will be back as soon as he is able."

Damn right he would be.

But for now . . .

He glanced down at his arm, nose wrinkled in disgust.

Damn the fucking Gate to hell.

* * *

Review Replies:

Ainedil - You betcha there will be a Roy/Ed line later on! I'd definitely like to develop that before just throwing it out at everyone, though. ;)


	6. Disable

Of all the things Mustang expected to happen one early winter morning, a very familiar boot to his office door was not one of them.

The last month and a half had been incredibly frustrating. Despite Pinako's promise to keep him informed, it seemed the crotchety old lady still held a grudge for anyone with military status (with obvious exception to Ed). He'd heard nary a thing. It wasn't like his nerves weren't already completely shot after the first attempt to fix the young man's macabre shoulder failed entirely. Some of the steel was warped and bent beyond repair. Luckily, further inspection helped to confirm that the internal mechanisms—the part of the automail that was fused to bone—was otherwise unharmed. The second attempt was much more successful, but Mustang couldn't bear to think about how Ed was just afterwards.

Sweating, feverish, incoherent, and in so much pain Pinako slipped a sedative into his water on more than one occasion. When they headed off to Resembool, the alchemist wasn't doing too much better. Winry had warned it could be an entire year before Ed was fit for duty again.

So, then, to see a spitting blonde standing in his office just a short time later was . . . well, not exactly on his agenda for the day.

But God . . . he looked amazing. He certainly didn't look gaunt any longer. He was still definitely underweight—and for good reason—but he'd packed on enough pounds to look relatively alive again. He had trimmed his golden hair but not cut it off entirely; the simple ponytail it was in dangled down to his mid-back.

He was also, Mustang noted after the initial shock wore off, missing his arm. The right sleeve of his coat hung empty and flat at his side.

It took him a good minute to two to stop gaping open-mouthed at the young man before him. "What are you doing here?" he finally managed, setting his pen down on his desk.

Ed shifted, leaning on his right leg, and only then did Mustang notice the ginger movements that indicated that he wasn't exactly pain-free using the automail he had gotten back. "Got bored. Don't like staying with Granny and Winry too long. So I decided to come back. Figured you'd have something up your sleeve for me coming back by now."

"You aren't fit for duty," Roy decided to wisely point out.

"Bullshit," Ed declared in reply, placing his one hand on his hip and jutting his chin out proudly. "I'm fuckin' raring to go."

Mustang very badly wanted to roll his eyes, but he held back, if only because it would only spark more indignation in the other man. "With only one arm? I frankly don't understand why you couldn't be patient enough to get that back."

"Yeah . . . bout that."

The young man's tone had Roy pausing, raising his gaze fully to Ed to see what that meant. It didn't sound good. He stayed silent, waiting on Ed to elaborate. There was no way he was putting him back on active duty until he knew what exactly what was going on.

Ed, for the most part, had the decency to look upset about the situation. "Granny said we have to wait for the nerves to heal. It could take up to six months, nothing I can do about that to make it hurry up. They're fuckin' shot what with being tied up to the wires then getting reattached . . . then unattached again. So. Yeah. Didn't want to wait in Resembool for that shit."

Roy felt the need to point out the obvious. "But don't you need it to use alchemy effectively?"

"Kinda. I mean you should probably put on the report that I can still fucking function without the other one. Not like I can't still draw arrays."

". . . But?"

And Ed winced, stepped back and sat down on the couch with a sheepish glance. The move was so alarming to Roy that he froze, blinking his dark eyes several times at the other as he attempted to comprehend this move. There was something up Ed's sleeve. Something that made him very hesitant. The militant in him wanted to know for safety purposes.

The alchemist in him was dying to know for research purposes.

After all, Edward Elric—both of the Elrics, actually—had always been an inspiration to him. He was a researcher, an alchemist, a scientist, and he was considered one of the best in the field for the flame alchemy he'd learned from Riza Hawkeye's father. He was passionate about it. He wanted to be Fuhrer. He wanted to improve his alchemy almost as much. And Ed and Al had always been something of a legend. The way Ed could process things in the blink of an eye . . . The way Al could calmly and rationally choose the simplest and most accurate form of an alchemy circle to serve a purpose. Between the two, they were a powerhouse like Amestris had never seen before. And they were so young.

Ed had tried to give it up to get Al's body back. Although Roy understood Ed's intentions, the thought that the world would no longer be graced by such raw talent and genius made him cringe.

So it was only natural that he was dying to know just what Ed had in store for him this time.

"You remember how Father was able to use alchemy?" he asked nervously, glancing at Roy. "He didn't have to create a circle. Or clap or anything."

"Yes?"

"Yeah. Well."

Eyes locked on Roy, Ed reached out, fingers brushing lightly against one of the couch cushions. The familiar ice-blue crackle of alchemy filled the air, and the cushion transformed into a small doll.

Admittedly, it took Mustang a good minute or two to figure out what exactly had happened.

To register that Edward Elric had performed an alchemical reaction simply by _touching_ his material. No clapping. No array. Like it was as easy as breathing. No, easier.

Ed was like Father.

The thought had Roy's heart beating wildly in his chest until he found the strength to calm down and think the situation through rationally. Ed wasn't like Father. He had not split his flaws from himself, and he had absolutely no desire to become one with the Gate. If there was one thing Mustang knew that his subordinate loathed more than anything, it was getting help. And he would not seek the benefits of a power that he did not deserve.

So . . . what was it that made it like this?

"How?" he asked simply, sitting down next to the other with only a slight quaver. He wasn't afraid of Ed. He couldn't allow himself to be. Besides . . . chances were, Ed was more scared of himself than anyone else might be of him.

"The same reason why clapping works. It's just more concentrated than that. Father was as powerful as he was because he had so much of the Gate in him. The knowledge is all there. You just have to be able to harness it."

The Gate's power leaked into Ed, then. "But the circle . . ."

"If you were to cut my other arm off right here," Ed nodded vaguely to his upper arm, "it would be a circle. Our whole body is made up is shapes. The reason almost all of us need to draw out the array is just because we don't have the energy or strength to let our bodies be our arrays. But when you've seen the Gate . . . or when you've _lived_ with it. The fucking power just bleeds into you. It's right there."

He understood. He understood exactly what Ed was saying, but it somehow didn't make sense at the same time. That the Gate could just unintentionally leak that much power into someone? He'd seen the Gate for all of a few seconds. Just long enough for it to steal his eyesight. But that had somehow been enough time for him to gain the knowledge and power to clap like Ed and his teacher Izumi could.

Ed had been with the Gate for three years. Just how much . . .

"Why didn't this happen with Al?" he questioned, wanting to understand fully. Al's body had been with the Gate for longer than Ed. If anything, Al should be the most powerful alchemist alive if what Ed was saying was true.

"His body, but not his soul." Ed touched the doll again, gently, and it returned to the cushion it had been in the first place . . . granted, he was pretty sure there had been a floral pattern on the fabric before, not horned skulls. "Our bodies are just conduits. The power comes from our portal of Truth. You saw yours, right?"

"The physical Gate?"

"Yeah. Al's body was there with his but not his mind, the part that can retain information. So his body probably has the power now to do it, but not the knowledge." Ed blew out a breath. "And he's the only other person I can think of that survived the Gate for so long. Anyone with less perseverance . . ."

"They would have given into the Gate long before that ever happened." Roy blew out a soft breath and squeezed his blue-clad knees as he digested the information. What Ed said made sense. And he didn't seem altogether too happy about the situation, in spite of the fact that there was almost unlimited power at his fingertips. In fact, as he looked up at Ed again, he noticed the young man's lips were pulled down into a contemplative frown. He stared at his hand like it held all the answers . . . and like he wished he could drag that power right out of him and stomp it to the ground. Because it was no longer Ed's power alone. The Gate was helping him right along.

Also, Ed's eyes were as fierce and magnetizing as ever.

Mustang almost couldn't bring himself to tear his own gaze away.

"The rest of the military absolutely can't know about this. You need a plausible explanation for your alchemy performance for their benefit. I can understand how you are fit for light duty based on what you've just told me. But we need to explain your disappearance and explain the alchemy issue. I have the disappearance explanation prepared, but . . ."

White teeth glistened as Ed grinned confidently. "I was thinking I could just . . . draw some generic array that doesn't actually work on the front of my coat. Y'know, just slap my hand on it like I was clapping my shirt instead of my hand."

"That's ridi—"

Roy paused. Blinked. Processed.

"That's bloody brilliant," he finally stated. Simple enough that the military would get it. And so Ed that they would never question that simplicity, just nod with the understanding they didn't have. Only real alchemists would notice what was wrong with it. And he had no intention of sending Ed after any alchemists until he had that second arm back. In the shape he was currently in . . . even if he was healthier, Roy didn't want to risk it. They'd just gotten him back.

Hell if he'd let anything take him again.

"I take it you barged in here with no regard for subtlety?" Roy asked finally, rising from the couch. Just at the same time, a sharp knock sounded on the door, and Hawkeye poked her heard around, one eyebrow cocked in a mix between amusement and concern. It was a look only Hawkeye could conjure up.

"Sir," she stated, "We have had several officers stop by stating that they saw either a ghost or the reincarnation of one Edward Elric parading through the halls of Central. What shall we tell them?"

Roy scowled. "Parading?"

Ed shrugged, a one-armed shrug that Roy was beginning to find to be incredibly infuriating. "Figured you'd fix it up," he answered innocently.

"Bloody hell, Ed."

It was a good thing Roy Mustang was incredibly skilled at cover ups, or he might have had a problem on his hands with Ed that day. As it was, several very alarmed-looking officers had barged into his office, only to grow even more alarmed when Ed decided to pop his aggravatingly blonde cowlick out from behind his inner office. He was clearly amused by the entire situation and may have made one or two rather uncouth jokes (that Mustang secretly found utterly hilarious). One officer even fainted, leaving Roy wondering how exactly they fared on a battlefield if all it took was the sight of a one-armed alchemist to make them weak at the knees. All in all, the situation was one that Roy's team could handle with relative eloquence (except for Ed himself, of course) and before he knew it, he found himself standing in front of a panel of his fellow Generals as well as the Fuhrer himself.

Good thing he'd rehearsed.

Even better thing that they'd specifically asked Ed not to come. Who knew what problems he would cause?

Roy saluted respectfully to those present in the room before taking his seat. The silence in the room was remarkably stifling; he almost wished someone would break it with a joke, just so they could all relax. As it was, even he felt tense. Too bad Riza hadn't been able to come with him. She would have just shot everyone who tried to make it too serious.

Wait. That wouldn't help.

"Three years," someone in the room finally spoke. Roy's gaze shifted to his right, where General Hakuro sat casually, his head propped up by one lazy arm. "Over three years and all of a sudden Major Elric pops up from whatever purgatory he's been in like he's never left. If I didn't know any better, General Mustang, I would have thought you'd been artfully hiding him this entire time so he didn't have to stand in front of the firing squad. He did desert, after all."

"As did you," soft-spoken Rassa said pointedly. She was a newer General, almost as new as Roy himself. She'd been promoted to fill in the gap that had been left when over half of the upper echelon found themselves dead and decidedly inot/i reaping the benefits of an immortal(ish) army. And Grumman didn't take just anyone. Mustang seriously liked the woman. She was brilliant and tended to fall on his side more often than not. "As did many soldiers. And the Fuhrer pardoned anyone who deserted within that time frame. Major Elric is no exception, even if this does not answer how he has miraculously returned to us." She turned inquisitive brown eyes to Roy. "The Major has been listed as MIA this entire time, but I believe it was widely assumed that we were simply waiting to find bodily evidence of his death. It is rather unprecedented of him to suddenly show up again out of the blue."

Mustang took a moment to sit quietly and collect his thoughts. There was a trick to this. And he had it down perfectly.

He leaned forward, elbows against the edge of the table, his gloved fingers interlocked comfortably. He smiled. "That," he answered, "Is precisely what I would love to tell you about."

Hakuro, for the moment, had nothing to say.

"I am sure you all know of the involvement Edward Elric had in the supposed Promised Day," he began smoothly, his eyes darting from face to face before finally settling on Grumman. The old man was watching him like a hawk, and he knew that in spite of the old man's loyalty to him, he would listen in an unbiased fashion. "As a matter of fact, if it weren't for him, then everyone in Amestris would be dead at this moment. Unfortunately, the work was not done. Major Elric had heard of a safeguard that might collapse should Father be defeated. I did not want to alert anyone, particularly after what we had just gone through, so I sent Elric to look into it secretly."

"And you didn't think to announce this to the Fuhrer once Elric was declared missing?" Hakuro questioned dryly.

"There were problems," he said bluntly. "Edward's father—one of the men who aided us that day—turned up dead in his hometown." He simply didn't mention that he had not, in fact, been killed. "And we received no reports from the Major himself. He simply disappeared without a trace. When he was announced missing, it was no lie, and since it seemed the problem with Father had been dealt with, we left it alone. I assumed Elric had simply decided he was done with the military, and I saw no need to suggest he was a deserter. Considering all that happened to him while he was in the military, I thought he might deserve it, actually." Grumman gave a small nod, and Roy knew that even if Ed had really deserted, he would not have been punished for it.

General Rassa leaned back in her chair with a pensive frown. "He showed up again today. Has he said anything?"

"Actually," Mustang responded conversationally, "I received a call from Resembool approximately two months ago about him."

This was not a lie. He had been in correspondence with Pinako and Winry to make sure Ed had made it safely with them. If the military were to research this, they would have indeed found one call had been made from the Rockbell residence.

"Miss Rockbell told me that Elric showed up at their doorstep, incredibly malnourished and injured badly. According to her, someone had caused extensive damage to the nerve endings in his arm's automail port and that he would need sufficient time to recover. She also mentioned that he expressed a desire to remain with the military once he had recovered." He cleared his throat. "I did not want to alert anyone to his presence until he was well enough to handle the situation if it was called for it. He has been under a lot of pressure. We did eventually find out that he had been captured and kept hostage for these past few years."

He even had the decency to look distressed about that fact.

He had been taken hostage, after all. By the Gate.

It was the Fuhrer himself who eventually spoke up. "I would like a detailed report about the situation, Mustang; I feel you are leaving out quite a few small details. For now, his assailants. What became of them? Or did he ever say?"

"Elric's arm was missing when he swept into Central, on top of that. Is he even well enough to resume his position?" Hakuro sneered, but Roy decided not to give him the satisfaction of looking annoyed.

"Major Elric escaped by chance when his captors decided to risk a move. Unfortunately, he has never seen their faces; they were always wearing masks or put a bag over his head. He can tell you more about that himself if you would like." He had filled Ed in on his excuse before coming. Naturally, Ed had wanted to add a few flairs. This was one of them. He turned then to Hakuro. "As for his arm, it is true, he returned without his automail restored. He informed me that the severe damage to his nerves required more recovery time than he thought and he wanted to return to his post as quickly as possible. Which, if you know Major Elric, is a bit odd." He paused as a few men in the room chuckled knowingly. "I suspect it had something to do with his brother leaving Amestris. He feels a little antsy and wants something to distract himself with."

"That still doesn't answer whether he's ready to get back to work or not," Hakuro pointed out.

"That was my concern as well," Mustang agreed, and Hakuro's mouth snapped shut in surprise. Roy never agreed with Hakuro. But hey. He was trying to please the masses. "But Edward believes his alchemy will more than compensate for the loss of his arm. He can't clap until he gets it back, yes, but that is why I would like to suggest a temporary pause in his fieldwork in return for a lab. His genius is remarkable and I believe he can be put to use outside of stopping our physical problems." He cleared his throat pointedly and glanced to the Fuhrer. "Excellency, I do suggest conducting a State Alchemist's yearly assessment to ensure he is being truthful about this, but I have no doubt he has something up his sleeve . . . considering there isn't an arm in there right now."

Another round of chuckles, and Roy mentally patted himself on the back for a job well done.

Or at least, until he was cornered by His Excellency the Fuhrer himself not ten minutes after the meeting ended.

Grumman stared at him blankly for a moment, and Roy had to force himself to keep from looking away from those frighteningly piercing eyes. "I am fully certain that wasn't the real reason why Major Elric has been missing," he finally stated.

Well, in the oh-so-eloquent language of Ed . . .

Fuck.

But then Grumman broke out into a small smile and nodded. "Write that report for me, General, and I'll have the matter fully resolved. Whatever the real thing is, I imagine it's important for you to hide it. You trust your men, and they have proven loyal time and time again. I see that this extends to the Major and so I believe what you are hiding is for his protection. We don't need the rest of the generals to find out about whatever it is. Just don't let him get hurt next time."

"Of course, sir," he answered gratefully, breathing a sigh of relief.

Grumman patted him on the back with a large smile. "I'll approve your request to keep him in the lab for now. Keep me updated. We certainly could use his expertise; we're still trying to clean up the mess from the Promised Day, even now. Carry on, General Mustang."

As Gumman stepped off, a retinue of guards following at his feet, Mustang took liberty of the moment to sink back against the nearby wall with a strange mix of utter relief and utter exhaustion. Writing a report wasn't too bad in the grand scheme of things—he'd probably written and signed several hundred at this point in his career—but keeping Ed contained here until they figured out what to do about his alchemy was going to be another thing altogether.

But he could keep him close now, and that was what mattered. He could watch over him because he refused to let Ed suffer like that ever again. And if the Gate tried to do anything to him . . .

Roy was going to be ready this time.

"You look like you just went through the fucking wringer."

He jumped in surprise, jerking upright into perfect soldier form before he realized that it was only Ed. Ed, in the hallway, where everyone in Central could gape in openmouthed shock (or perhaps horror?), munching on a bread roll that could only have come from the canteen. So much for keeping a low profile for a few days . . .

"Congratulations, Fullmetal," he managed eventually. "You've been successfully reinstated and placed at Central Headquarters."

"What, it worked? Well damn, I knew most of the higher ups were dumb, but this is just ridiculous."

Roy scowled. "Oh, and I suppose you would have had some better ideas to offer up."

"Probably if you gave me an hour."

He groaned in exasperated annoyance, but the young man seemed hardly perturbed about the situation. Ed had probably known the military would take him back regardless, just based on how much they actually ineeded/i him. "Anyway," he eventually ground out from behind clenched teeth, "the Fuhrer saw through it immediately, if you must know. You're lucky he trusts my judgment." He paused and hesitantly added, "You'll also be assigned a lab instead of going out into the field. At least until . . ."

He looked pointedly at Ed's empty right sleeve.

And Ed . . . flushed and gripped at the aforementioned shoulder in something akin to shame. Ed hated weaknesses. And it was at times like these, when he casually mentioned Ed's infirmities only to see his reaction, that Roy was reminded that Ed was, in fact, disabled. He was so strong and determined, so fiery, that it didn't even occur to him most of the time that Ed was a double amputee. He was missing two limbs. The ones he had were fake. And his casual mention of that loss probably hurt Ed a lot more than he let on.

Roy felt completely ashamed to have actually made Ed feel such a way.

"I—" he started, wanting to apologize so badly to the young man. Ed's gaze had hardened and grown cold even though Roy hadn't expressively said "At least until you get your other arm back." He wasn't ever going to "get" another arm. It wouldn't grow back and the Gate clearly had no desire in letting him keep the one he'd finally gotten back.

"Can it, Mustang," Ed growled angrily, letting his hand drop. "I don't need to hear your damn apology. Whatever."

That just made it worse, so Roy thoughtfully did can it.

He leaned against the wall again, looking at the blonde with thoughtful consideration. Truthfully, Ed didn't appear all that unhealthy anymore, now that he was getting a good look. He was certainly still too skinny, but in the I-didn't-have-a-choice sort of way and not in the I-am-not-eating way. The color in his cheeks meant he'd regained much of his strength he'd lost while with the Gate. Mentally . . . Roy had no idea, but he guessed much the same as he had been. And it was for that reason more than anything else that he was nervous about putting him out in the field again. He couldn't get it out of his head . . . what had happened when they'd concealed Ed. What his reaction had been.

And that reaction was why Roy would never, not for his own life, let the Gate touch Ed again. Ed could be as brave as he wanted. But no one could walk away from that sort of thing with no consequences.

Not even someone as brilliant and strong as Edward Elric.

"Sir!"

He was started from his thoughts by Hawkeye rounding the corner, her hand already up in a firm solute. Her gaze was firm, which meant something had definitely happened. For one sinking moment, he wondered who had figured out their little bluff about Edward.

But it turned out that even if that wasn't the issue at all, he almost wished it could have been.

"We received an anonymous call from the downtown area of Central. They would not give us the details, only told us that the issue needed to be handled discreetly and by our team specifically."

"Assassins?" he asked immediately in concern.

"No, sir. When I say anonymous, I mean someone I would rather not mention out loud. Rest assured that we are in no danger."

"I want—"

"No." Mustang looked at Ed sharply, knowing exactly what he was going to say. "You aren't going out, not until I can have you properly examined. I need to be sure you aren't going to keel over in the middle of a crisis. Considering that just a few weeks ago, you were skin and bone, it would be suicide to have you on the field. Stay here and help Fuery should the need arise. I could use your help."

Ed did not take kindly to this, but that was no surprise to Mustang; the alchemist sent him a withering glare and then stomped off, ponytail flapping out behind him as he whirled around. Roy risked a wistful sigh, wishing he could have stayed here.

Wishing he could tell Ed what he really thought.

"I've prepared a car for you, Sir," Hawkeye stated, although her gaze was questioning. She had not seen what had happened between them just now, only that Ed seemed more agitated than normal.

"I'll tell you later, Riza," he told her softly, and then gestured towards the hallway. "Let's go."

The person who had called, as it turned out, was Gracia, and that was why Hawkeye had been so quick to get them moving. If anything happened to her, if anything happened to Elicia, none of them would ever forgive themselves. They had already let Maes slip through their fingers, had been lax to watch over him. Maes could take care of himself, and he had still died. No one would ever let the same happen to anyone that man wound up sacrificing his life for.

"Did she mention what the concern was?" he asked professionally, his eyes locked on the streets in front of them. The issue with Ed had already been pushed aside; this was of more concern to him at the moment. Ed he could deal with.

"No sir, only that there was someone with her that we needed to see as soon as possible. She did mention they were asking about someone who has since been deceased."

He nodded in understanding, leaning back against the cushioned leather of the car.

"How's the Boss?" Havoc asked from the driver's seat, eyes on the mirror inquisitively. The question was asked to distract him, Roy realized belatedly.

"As aggravating as ever," he stated darkly. "Doing a lot better, though."

"It isn't particularly surprising to see him back so soon," Hawkeye commented dryly. "Did he tell you why he hasn't gotten his automail back?"

He nodded with a scowl. "His nerves were too messed up. Pinako Rockbell said they would have to heal first before she would even thing about reattaching an arm. The most they've been able to do is clean up the port and set parts back in place."

And the worst part was, Ed was still the best fighter they had.

"Maybe I should have let him stay on the field," he murmured.

"I find that unwise," Riza immediately declined, eyes narrowing a bit. "Regardless of his ability, Edward still needs to recover. You cannot put a soldier on the field that is mentally ready. And I believe . . . he is not ready yet. You made a good decision. He will come to understand it at a later time."

"We're here," Havoc announced, parking the car in front of the modest apartment-style home.

Nothing looked like it had exploded, or even been relatively damaged, and Roy frowned in confusion. Perhaps it really wasn't as serious as Gracia had been making it out to be. But no, because she had called through the military line as Hawkeye had informed him. Calling through that line meant that if something hadn't actually happened, there could be consequences for using the line. Gracia knew that more than most.

So what . . .

She greeted them at the door, her smile tense but welcome. "Thank you for coming on such short notice," she breathed, stepping forward to accept the hug Riza offered to her. "I really didn't know what to do. When Maes was still here, he used to tell me what happened at work. Sometimes he needed the comfort, you know." She glanced upstairs. "And he told me about . . . well, you were the only ones I could think of that might know how to handle this. I thought about Edward or Alphonse, but Alphonse is gone and Edward is . . ."

No one had told her.

"We found Ed," he said lightly, "but that is a question for another time. Please, let us know what is going on here. Are you in danger?"

"Oh, no," she stated immediately. "We are both fine. Just . . . follow me."

Roy exchanged a cautious look with Hawkeye but did as he was bid; Breda and Fallman pulled up moments later and they all stepped upstairs to a closed door waited for them. They could hear giggling from behind it. Elicia, naturally, and . . . someone else. Another young girl. Hardly a military matter.

Or so he thought.

"She's asking about Shou Tucker," Gracia told them, her eyes tight, and pushed open the door.

A little girl turned, eyes widened. "Daddy?" she gasped, only to deflate moments later when she realized that Roy was standing there. "I 'member you! You talked with Daddy! Do you know where he is?"

She was probably four.

Roy was probably seeing things.

Because Nina Tucker was sitting in front of him with wide eyes, alive and whole.


	7. Transmutation

The world could be ending. The sky could be falling, people could be coming back to life, Father could climb out of the Central Headquarters basement to kill everyone in Amestris.

And Edward Elric would not have cared one bit, because he was bored out of his fucking mind.

He'd fixed everything there was to fix in the office, from the bullet holes in the walls all the way to the scuffmarks on Jean Havoc's pair shoes. He'd even casually touched Fuery's radio—"What the—Sir! Don't do that! I swear, your alchemy . . ."

Swear. Swear was such an innocent word, from such an innocent mouth. He then decided to dedicate himself to trying to get Fuery to say fuck. Or even just damn. He tried for half an hour, to no avail. The soldier's personality was just as damnably innocent as his looks. How boring.

But when there was no word from Mustang in two hours—not that he was counting—he really was starting to wonder what was going on. He wasn't worried, obviously; that bastard knew exactly what he was doing. But he was morbidly curious about it all. No explosions, no fires, no gunshots pealing out across the air. He was dying to know. Like, who the hell didn't check in with everyone who was waiting? He could've at least _called_.

Three hours after they left, he slumped down into an office chair and rubbed distractedly at his aching shoulder. He no longer wore the flaming red coat everyone had come to associate him with; it had been flashy and obnoxious and no longer fit him. Well, no, because he was still just as obnoxious as ever (it was an occupation). But the purpose of wearing it no longer existed. So now he wore a thick sweater to account for the quickly-chilling weather of late autumn. He might have worn a jacket too, but it was a royal pain in the ass to get one empty sleeve inside of another empty sleeve. Besides, his shoulder ached badly at the port and he couldn't well do anything to help it if he was wearing too many layers.

"Does it hurt?"

He jerked his hand away like lightning and grinned over at Fuery. "Naw," he drawled casually, lying through the skin of his teeth. "Just a habit."

If any of them knew he was hurting, word would definitely get back to that Bastard, and he wouldn't let him do _anything_.

He needed something to do desperately, was the thing. Resembool was . . . dead. Nothing ever happened there anymore. And Winry . . . Winry had tried to get him to propose at least three times in the past month, but he couldn't. It wasn't just that he couldn't bring himself to like her as more than a sister, but he also just . . . couldn't do that sort of thing to her. He couldn't make a commitment like that without knowing if he was going to be around to see it through. Besides, he was probably the most unreliable guy around. He wouldn't even deny it. That wasn't fair to anyone, whether he wanted to be with them or not. So he had to get away from that, from Winry and Granny. At least until his nerves were healed enough to reapply his automail arm. And he had to find something to do before he went crazy waiting for the Gate to make its move.

"AaaaarrrghhHHHH!" he groaned loudly into the room, banging the back of his head against the wall. Fuery jumped in alarm, eyes wide behind his glasses. "S-Sir?"

"Fuckin' bastard's getting all the action. Where'd they go? I'm gonna go find them and bust his fucking head in for leaving me he—"

The phone rang shrilly, and Ed jumped up from his seat, scrabbling for the phone before Fuery had any chance to pick it up. _Finally_.

"Listen," he stated without preamble, "it's fucking sweet you care about my health or whatever, but it's not like shit's gonna happen with you being all snap happy anyway, so just let me come along next time, you got that? Fuery's hella boring—"

"Sir!"

"—and you haven't even added any new damn books to your office library. Like, what kind of alchemist are you? Don't you do any fucking research?"

Silence greeted him, and he scowled into the phone like its recipient could see straight through to him.

"What, General Bastard, cat got your tongue?"

". . . Brother?"

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Not Roy. Not fucking Mustang. Or Hawkeye. Or . . . Fuck.

Al.

He slammed the phone down on the receiver and quickly backed away, expecting a suit of armor to climb out of the mouthpiece. Al wasn't a suit of armor anymore, of course. But the fact remained that he didn't want . . . no, correction, _couldn't have_ Al here. If he knew the Gate had been keeping him alive, and if the Gate took him back whenever he'd done his duty or whatever. If Al knew, he would never stop trying to bring Ed back. It would become and endless circle of the forbidden. That wasn't the sort of life he wanted for anyone, including himself. He was tired of trying to fix their mistakes. Of trying to correct them without any reprimand. Whatever happened, they had to stop playing God.

Before it consumed them.

But now Al . . . Al knew, because no one else would _dare_ call Mustang a Bastard. He prayed Al would just think he was hallucinating. Having flashbacks. _Whatever_.

But fate wasn't on Ed's side; it never was. Because the phone rang again.

This time Fuery picked it up, eyeing Ed with nothing less than concern. And damn Ed's good hearing, because even from across the room, he could hear the tinny sound of Al's voice through the phone. He was tempted to cover his ears with his arms except—oh yeah—he only had one arm right now. It wouldn't help the problem at all.

"What's going on?" the younger Elric asked, clearly distressed. "Were you playing a recording? D-Did he get in trouble for how he treated the General? I mean . . . I . . . and why . . . why now—"

"I . . ." Fuery started, having no idea how to handle the situation. He looked at Ed, who resolutely stared down at his feet and sat back down. No one wanted to keep lying, to keep telling him that Ed was dead when he was living and breathing twenty feet away. But with Ed clearly not wanting him to know . . .

Fucking damn it. He couldn't hide it. Try as he might, he couldn't lie to his little brother. He loved him too much, and hearing Al in such distress just because of his _voice_ was really grating on his nerves. He drew in a soft breath of resignation and glanced up again.

"We wondered if you would ever call to let us know how you were doing," Fuery was saying, trying to pretend nothing was amiss. The alarm in his eyes said otherwise. "The General is out investigating a call, so you missed him for now. Would you like to give us a number to reach you at once he returns?"

"That . . . that is why I called, but . . ."

"Let me get a pen."

Ed stood again, wincing when he leaned on his automail leg at the wrong angle (apparently not wearing the prosthesis for three years made his nerves lazy, of all things). He needed to talk to Al. No, he realized as he listened to that familiar trembling voice on the line . . .

He needed his brother.

"What's going on? I know you're avoiding an answer, I'm not stupid. Please, I just . . ."

Ed swept in, leaning over Fuery's desk to smoothly pluck the phone from the Lieutenant's hand.

"Alphonse."

". . . Is this some kind of joke?"

He didn't believe it could possibly be him, and for good reason, but it still hurt quite a bit. Because now he felt incredibly guilty for not trying to reach him before this. And maybe a little guilty for supposedly dying in the first place. Damn his conscience.

He drew in a sharp breath and then dug in. "Not a fuckin' joke, Al. Remember that door you always used to talk about? The one where you used to wait for Mom to magically come through, all not dead and shit? This . . . This is me, walking through the door. Or the Gate. Or a huge fucking prison. Y'know, whatever you want to call it."

Silence met him on the other end of the line, but it was the kind of silence where the caller was too busy sobbing their guts out to actually say anything.

"Al?" he heard faintly in the background. "Al, what's wrong? What happened?" Ed instantly recognized the voice as May Chang, which meant Al had found that new life he was after. Thank the fucking skies his little brother hadn't been miserable for the last year.

"It's Ed," he choked out finally. "Ed's on the phone. The Ga . . . Br-Brother, the Gate didn't kill you? You never . . . all we found was what was left of your automail. So how . . ."

"Honestly, you should just never assume I'm down for the count until you find my body. Maybe not even then. I'm hard to kill, you should know that."

"Obviously," Al laughed through his tears. "I just . . . oh my God, and I left. I came here instead of waiting. I'm such an—"

"No! No, Al, I'm glad you did." Ed slid around to sit on Fuery's desk, twisting the phone cord around his body. "Fuck knows I don't want your brilliant ass moping around after you finally got your body back. We did it so you could live a normal life, not cry all the damn time."

They were both such idiots, Ed thought wryly. Everyone said they were prodigies; that their minds moved too quickly for anyone else to keep up with them. But they were just idiots. Idiots who didn't know how to take care of themselves, who made more mistakes than they knew how to get out of.

But they were still alive. Somehow, in spite of the rather gargantuan odds, they were still here and still breathing at the end of the day.

"Are you okay?" Al asked suddenly and very pointedly. He could hear the tears in his voice but they were overshadowed by Al's brotherly concern which . . . if Ed was being honest, was terrifying sometimes. "How did you get out? What happened? And why are you in the General's office? Why aren't you with Winry and Granny in Resembool?"

"Why did you call Mustang but not Winry?" he countered, dodging every single one of those questions.

"How would you know?"

"Winry would've told you I was alive."

". . . Touché." He heard the other clear his throat. "You first."

"Look, honestly, we'll have time for that later if you . . . I mean, if you want. It's kinda hard to explain over the phone."

In other words, the phone was probably (definitely) tapped. That, and there were some things he just really didn't want to tell Alphonse. For all he knew, Ed had regained his right arm. To know that the Gate had taken it again . . . it was fucking cruel, and unfair. It was in no way equivalent exchange. Really, none of this was. The Gate keeping him alive and miserable like that for three years was proof enough of that.

"But I'm fine, okay? I promise." Because he was. Now, anyway. Since he'd talked to Al. He smiled into the mouthpiece. "Call me later, just not here. I swear I'll tell you what happened. And stay there, you got that? Don't you dare fucking decide to cross and entire desert just because your sorry-ass brother is back. Stay with May. We'll see each other . . . soon."

He refused to get Alphonse mixed up in whatever mess the Gate had waiting for him this time.

"You know I never listen to anything you say, right?"

"Just this once, Al, okay? Please."

". . . Okay," Al finally muttered. "But only if you tell me why you don't want me there. You only say please when you're desperate."

"Traitor," he grumbled, but if that was what it took to get him to stay put, then he'd have to just go ahead and tell him what the problem was. Maybe then he would listen to him. Well. Doubtful. But it was worth a try.

"Promise?"

"Yeah."

"And you promise you're really fine?"

"Duh. Don't be such a worry-wart." He shook his head into the phone and decided to attempt to press his own questions again. "So. Please tell me you're actually in Xing? I can hear May back there so you must have gone at some point."

"Yeah." He could hear the warmth in Al's voice and knew that he was smiling now, although he was sure it was probably still shaky. After all, he was talking to someone he thought he'd lost forever. And that was what was going to make Alphonse scary. He wouldn't want to let that happen ever again. "It took me a month, and then I think I almost got killed like three times passing through territories. Then May's clan must have found out because the next thing I knew, I was getting an escort."

"Oh wow, that's neat. Is that where you are now?"

"Nope." He could practically feel the sunbeams radiating off of Al's body. "We're in the imperial palace. Ling made some stupid excuse about needing an alkahestrist and demanded May's presence. Then he added that if she happened to know of any Amestrian's around, he could use a translator and to pass the word. He got it too. Brother, are you sure he's not still Greed in disguise?"

"Ling was already a greedy bastard," Ed answered truthfully, just in time to glance at the office door as it swung open. Roy's team trudged through silently, faces haggard. Mustang himself stepped inside behind the others, looking like he'd seen some sort of a ghost. Probably his own reflection. Or not. What the hell . . . "Listen, Al, General Bastard just got back from that call they got; looks like they had a shit ton of fun. You have his personal number, right? To his house? I'll crash over there tonight or something, so call me there. We can talk then."

"Be careful, Brother," Al warned.

"Yeah, Yeah. You sound more like the older brother than I do, jeez. Hey . . . Love you."

It was almost torture to close the line, especially because he knew Al. And he knew that Al was probably going to go cry some more. But it wasn't like they could actually talk on a military line without half of the upper echelon trying to listen in and one-up Mustang. He wiggled his way out of the cord tangled around him and hung up the phone before he turned back around and stared at the team more blatantly. "You don't look particularly beat up for what your faces are telling me."

"Edward," Roy said slowly, his eyes burning black holes into Ed's skin, "are you absolutely certain that you have been alive this entire time? That the Gate hasn't been just toying with you or lying to you?"

Ed eloquently raised an eyebrow at the question. "I'm pretty damn sure my body wouldn't have come back bloody and half-assed if I rose from the dead. 'Sides, I told you. The Gate was telling me I needed to be back on Amestris or some shit like that. Like, it literally sounded afraid. I dunno. What the hell, old man, why are you asking me this all of a sudden?"

"Because there is something going on that I don't understand," he answered faintly. "Sit down."

He planted his ass back on the edge of Fuery's desk. He would've crossed his arms over his chest if he had both of them. Just one made him look stupid.

Good thing, too, because Mustang didn't say anything else. He just handed him a photo. A photo that Ed glanced down at with a frown.

A photo that took him several minutes to even process.

The photo was slightly blurry, like someone's hand had been shaking as they took it. But it didn't need to be clear for Ed to see what was depicted in it. Elicia, gleefully braiding another girl's hair back into two long pleated pigtails. The other girl looked just like . . .

Nina Tucker.

And then it all clicked for Ed. What the Gate needed him for. Because Edward knew something that no one else in the world did. The Gate had let it slip. He wasn't sure if it was intentional or not. But this was why the damned thing had been so willing to ship him back.

Someone else had figured out how to bring the dead back to life.

"Impossible," he whispered, clenching the photo tightly between his fingers until it creased. Who else could have possibly figured it out? But . . . no. No, it didn't make sense. Because Nina had not just died. She was a special case.

"Ed," Mustang said slowly, firmly. "What do you know?"

He glanced up sharply in alarm, then at the rest of the team. And then up at the ceiling, where there were already three bugs planted in plain sight. "Not here," he choked out. "And not everyone can hear. It's too . . ."

"Is it alchemy?"

"Yes."

"Then they can hear. Because they won't understand how it works. No one will except for me."

"Not here," he insisted, then glanced upwards again pointedly.

And at last, Mustang seemed to understand the reasoning behind it, because all of a sudden he stretched and very loudly stated, "It's been quite the long day, hasn't it? What do you say we go out and get some drinks to wind down? At least, assuming I don't have any paperwork left to do."

"Trust me, Sir," Hawkeye stated unblinkingly, "you always have more paperwork to do. But I will let you off the hook this evening. It is rather late, and you've had a rather trying day dealing with that issue downtown."

"Ah yes," he stated, still loud, "that insufferable Tringham boy was trying to start a rally again. Good thing we stopped it before it got out of hand."

. . . Okay, that was actually not too bad of an excuse, Ed decided distantly.

* * *

"What are you doing?" she asked, leaning over the counter with a frown."

"Packing," Alphonse Elric stated pointedly.

"But he told you not to go after him."

"I know. Which means something is happening and he's trying to shoulder it all himself, like usual. That's what got him dead in the first place. Or . . . not dead. Imprisoned. I don't know."

"And you don't care?" May asked quietly, tilting her head to the side. Twin black braids clacked dully against the edge of the counter as she did. "I mean, I can't stop you. But you don't care that he wants you to stay out of it? You don't care that he's trying to protect you?"

"I know my brother," Al answered determinedly, tucking a folded shirt into his suitcase, "and I know that he needs protecting more than I do. Because he's the one that likes to get himself into situations he can't get out of. He can't think rationally. It doesn't matter how long it's been. I could tell, just from that phone call. He's going to make the same mistakes. And someone has to be there to talk some sense into him."

"What about us?"

He paused, turning around, to look at the girl who had become so attached to him in the year leading up to the Promised Day. And then beyond. He cracked a weak smile. "I was rather hoping you would come with me."

"Ling's going to kill us," she laughed.

"Once Ling finds out Ed's alive, I think he'll let us off the hook this once." He gestured to the second suitcase nearby him. "Anyway, if you're going to come, there's a suitcase. We'll leave after I call him tonight. It's going to take us a couple weeks to get there."

May stepped around the counter to lean up and kiss him on the cheek. "Of course I'll come. Ed's not the charming guy I hoped he was once, but I still like him enough to want to help him."

Al laughed. "Don't tell him that to his face."

* * *

The bar was packed, but packed with the sort of people who wouldn't eavesdrop. It was to Roy's best interest that they acquiesce at his mother's bar. Chris Mustang was their safest bet in making sure whatever Ed had to say would remain private. Ed was inclined to agree; most of the people who glanced at them as they entered the room almost immediately turned away again. Mustang was a frequenter of the bar, and probably his team as well.

Convenient.

He hadn't let go of the photo since Mustang pressed it to his hands. It was impossible, except he knew it wasn't. But Nina . . . Nina was someone he had always regretted not being able to save, because the signs all should have been there. They had been, in retrospect. If he'd been any older, he would have realized what Shou Tucker was up to. But he wasn't. And Nina had suffered for it. He just . . . he was a little afraid now, of what might happen. Because the Gate didn't just let people use that sort of power. No, it had found many, many ways to thwart that power, to hide it from those that dared to attempt to perform human transmutation. And that meant someone was able to get past the Gate itself.

What Ed wouldn't give for that person to be him. To thwart that fucking Gate and set it right, set it to where the exchange was _actually_ equivalent. Or, somehow, to simply stop that sort of power from even being feasible.

But if the Gate had let Ed back out. If the Gate was being thwarted in any way . . .

Then it must have sensed it was in danger. It must have needed to find a way to save itself. And it thought Ed was just the man for the job.

Well, fuck the Gate. He was done with that shit.

"Hey," he said roughly, and Mustang looked over at him, the edge of a smile pulling at his lips when Ed tried—and failed—to climb up onto one of the bar stools. He glared and hopped up on it this time, wincing as his automail port jerked a little. "What are you going to do with her? Does she know anything about what happened? Where's she gonna stay?"

"Gracia Hughes is going to look after her for now. She's the one that found her. We . . . have not told her about her father being dead. And she has no recollection of being transmuted. Otherwise there seems to be nothing wrong with her memory so . . ."

"The time frame of her coming back was before she was transmuted. To preserve her body," Ed surmised. Neither of them knew for certain, but that was probably the most likely scenario.

Which meant the alchemist in charge of this whole thing knew what he was doing. Damn.

He glanced up inquisitively. "So the reason you asked me if I was sure I'd been alive was because you thought maybe it was too close to be a coincidence?"

"Yes," Mustang agreed, and the look on his face was one of almost torture. Ed couldn't even begin to guess the reason why. Perhaps Mustang actually cared what happened to him? . . . Nah. He was a Bastard. "It's only been a month or two since you quite literally dropped out of the sky, and then suddenly there's a four-year-old child on the streets of Central asking about her father. If it is a coincidence, it's extremely strange."

"Hate to say it, but it's definitely a coincidence. Well, it isn't, but for a different reason entirely."

He looked around in the bar again, and then leaned in against the counter. The rest of Mustang's team did as well, so they could hear. He swallowed thickly, not sure he was really ready to admit it, but this was the only chance he had. He could include Mustang. He could trust them, he always had been able to trust them.

"Human transmutation is possible," he finally admitted.

It didn't matter if you weren't an alchemist. Everyone knew what it was. Everyone close to Ed knew what he and Al had done, multiple times, to atone for their mistakes. And Ed had vowed, fully certain, that it wasn't possible. Except it was. He heard them all draw in sharp gasps, saw Mustang's face tighten imperceptibly although his casual stance on the chair didn't change.

"I'm not going to say how," he quickly stated, just in case they asked. "The last thing we need is for someone to hear about it and stupidly try it themselves. I . . . I trust you, but I just don't want to risk it. Hell, I don't even trust myself half of the time." He glanced down at the photo one more time, at Nina's face. "But it can be done, if you're willing to give something up for it. If you're willing to give up more than blood or alchemy or even your life. But the one thing I will say . . . is that it has to be done within the Gate."

"So you . . ."

"You have to already be in the Gate to try it," he confirmed, knowing what Mustang was about to ask. "The Gate pushed me out and deliberately took my arm again. I think maybe it knew I needed the time to heal, and it was buying time." He scowled. "It needs my help. Otherwise it wouldn't have let me go. If there's someone inside of the Gate, utilizing its power, then that means I could have been killed if I was there when they showed up."

"It wants you alive," Havoc mused.

"Yeah." Ed reached out, blindly accepting the cup that the woman behind the counter slid to him. He hadn't asked for a drink, but she was giving everyone orders like they had . . . to avoid suspicion? He looked up at the woman, at her graying hair and jewelry and relaxed expression. She winked. No wonder Mustang was such a flirt.

"That's not all, though, is it?" Hawkeye questioned, leaning back on the bar stool.

Ed looked at her inquisitively, knowing she'd already figured it out.

"Nina," she answered. "Why Nina specifically? You can bring anyone in the world back to life with that sort of power. So why did they specifically choose a four-year-old little girl who has been dead for years?"

"This person has something to do with Edward and Alphonse," Mustang stated softly.

Ed nodded and took a long drink of whatever was in his mug. It was alcoholic and strong, and he expected he rather needed it after all of this. "Any of us, really. They are trying to rile us up. An explanation could be that the Gate pushed me out knowing that whoever was coming would recognize me. It knows everything. It is knowledge. So it was defending itself before anything could happen."

"It was defending you too."

"Why the hell would it want to do that?" he snorted derisively. "It's been keeping me like a fucking plaything for three years. It doesn't want to defend me. It's just keeping its prize for when it needs it. I'm the only person with the Gate long enough to know how to stop this person. Theoretically speaking, anyway, since I can't just snap my fingers and have it done."

"What would you need to do?"

"Not sure. Don't care, either."

"You don't care?" Fuery asked quietly, eyes wide behind his glasses.

"The Gate wants my help. The Gate unfairly took me instead of taking my alchemy like it should have. It kept me from my brother. If it thinks I'm going to help it after everything, well. Fuck that." He took another long drink. "It can go fuck itself. As long as I don't try any more human transmutation, I don't have to go back there. And I plan on staying here this time around. Someone else can get caught up trying to do it."

"But Nina?" Hawkeye prompted. "Will she be okay?"

"I don't know." He shifted awkwardly. "All I know is bringing someone back to life is possible. But what the cost of it is . . . what that person who is brought back to life has to go through . . . I think they pay part of the price without even realizing it. I think. I'm not sure. Either way. I figure she's safe enough for now."

The drink was gone far too quickly, and the bar was getting more crowded by the minute as the late night gatherers started to appear. It was time to go. Besides, he was going to wait on a call from Al.

"Hey, General Bastard," he stated with no preamble, "Let me crash at your place tonight."

" _What?!_ " Mustang sputtered into his drink, looking up in alarm.

"It's not like I have any money or housing or shit. Just for the night. 'Sides, I told Al to call me there."

"Alphonse called?" and suddenly the entire team—sans Fuery—was looking at him in excitement.

"Ah . . . yeah. Think he wanted to talk to Mustang." He shrugged. "Probably checking up. He sounded fine." And he'd stay fine too, so long as he didn't get himself mixed up in this mess. Especially now that he knew what was going on. Fuck. "Anyway, put me up for one night. Your house is fucking huge, and you live there by yourself. You have room for one extra person."

"Of course he'll put you up," Chris Mustang stated demurely, leaning her rather large bosom against the other side of the counter. Roy's aunt was an interesting character, to say the least on the matter. "Edward Elric, right? I've heard more about you than I probably want to. Glad to see you're still kicking after all."

"Aunt Chris," Mustang sighed.

"You hush. Take him home." She waved a wrist that jangled with practically a dozen bracelets. Ed was pretty sure his mouth was hanging open as he stared at her, but he didn't feel assed to check. He was still trying to figure out how the two of them had cohabited to form the personality the Bastard carried around now.

"Can't you stay at—"

"Sorry, Sir, I just realized, Black Hayate needs to be let out!" Riza stood and saluted sharply before making a break for it.

"Oh man, forgot I need to get groceries."

"I have a date."

"My house is a pigsty."

"Yeah. No."

And so, Mustang and Ed were the only ones left. Ed grinned triumphantly and hopped down from the bar stool. "Party at General Bastard's tonight!"

"My own team," Roy moaned, his face in his hands.

Ed decided a sympathetic clap on the back would secure his victory before they left.

* * *

queen angela - hopefully you'll get an idea of where it's going now! Thanks for reading!

LuvversLuvvie - I'm so glad you're enjoying it!


	8. Stew

Roy thought his insides must be burning into a fiery inferno. Or if not, then he was having one hell of a bowel movement. Either way, having Ed at his _home_ was definitely not the best idea . . . and particularly not when Roy's flaming insides were _because_ of the blond alchemist sauntering up to the front door in front of him.

Whatever his aunt had given Ed must have been potent, because he was tipsy. His uneven, limping gait was especially wobbly now. The bar was only a few blocks away from his townhouse so they walked; in any case, he wasn't sure he could handle Ed in a car for any amount of time. Apparently, tipsy Ed had no real boundaries . . . He'd gotten far too close to Roy a number of times during the short walk, and he wasn't sure if he was just unsteady, or if it was on purpose.

It didn't help that he couldn't stop looking him over. He hadn't seen him in well over a month was the excuse . . . but it was just an excuse. He wanted to admire how Ed's gold hair shone white against the harsh light of the streetlamps. He wanted to admire how the rusty red sweater Ed had on fit snugly around the one shoulder he had left. He wanted to admire Ed's golden eyes on his face while they talked.

God, he sounded like an insatiable teenager going through puberty.

But Ed was gorgeous, even still trying to put back on weight as he was, and Roy couldn't bring himself to start an inner pep talk about why he shouldn't think such things. He knew that Ed was off limits. He'd never want him in the way Roy wanted him. It honestly killed him a little inside.

He could hardly manage to keep his hands to himself, and it didn't help when Ed had rubbed against his side three times on the walk home.

"Of course you'd have a fucking mansion," Edward griped as he waited at the door, shifting impatiently from foot to automail foot.

"It's a townhouse, Edward," he sighed in response, digging his key out of his pocket.

"So it's a mansion townhouse. Fuckin' whatever. It's still huge. Hurry up."

Roy gave Ed one single long-suffering look, one that at the very least seemed to make Edward shrink down ever so slightly. Success. "You're lucky I'm not leaving you on the front step," he drawled pointedly.

Then he turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open. Ed practically scrambled inside, his leg sliding a little against the doorstep, and Roy realized it may not have just been impatience making Ed urge him on. The blond alchemist was clearly favoring his right leg, and he was wearing only a sweater despite Amestris' fast-approaching winter. His automail ports were probably paining him. Roy knew they always had when it became cold, but this was different. Ed was weaker, he had just gone through surgery to fix what the Gate had made a mess out of. He had to be aching. He watched with expertly-concealed sympathy as Ed's hand came up to rub at his opposite shoulder.

"There's a fireplace in the study if you need to warm up," he announced faux-casually as he stepped by the other and towards the kitchen. Ed hated people feeling sorry for him, and Roy intended to keep him from thinking he was purposely trying to help out. There was a high chance he would ignore it anyway, but there was no harm in trying.

Still, sure enough, Ed followed him to the kitchen instead of trying to find the study.

"You gonna get some food from somewhere?"

"I am going to cook dinner," he answered, glancing back at Ed's frowning face. "And I would very much enjoy it if you didn't hover. I know how your stomach dominates your thought process."

"Rude." Ed flopped down into a table chair, his one arm stretched casually across the back of it. "Figures you can cook. Since you like playing with heat so much."

"That's not why I cook."

"The fuck. My imagination is crushed."

Roy managed a small, restrained smile, and glanced over at him as he pulled out some supplies. He didn't have much—he usually did just eat in the canteen—but he figured he could pull up something like a stir-fry. "I cook, Edward, because I do need to eat once in a while. It's sort of a survival thing. I'm sure you've done the same."

"Does roasting a rabbit over a campfire count as cooking? Cause otherwise I'm sorry to disappoint but never thought it was all that damn important."

Yes, Roy decided. Having Edward Elric over was a horribly bad idea. Because not only was he completely obnoxious, but he was also far, far too attractive. And this was not a good thing for him to be finding Ed's cursing and slouching to be endearing, of all things.

He really must have been going soft in his old age.

"Hey."

"Yes?"

". . . Can you make vegetable stew?"

Vegetable stew. He remembered something Al had told him one year when he visited. Alphonse had been crying, again, but he was remembering his brother fondly through his tears, and one thing he had mentioned was that Ed hated milk. He hated it with such a passion he would probably rather die than drink it (at which point Roy had wisely resisted asking if perhaps that was the price the Gate asked him to pay). And he mentioned that he only time he would touch the beverage with a ten foot pole was when it was mixed into vegetable stew.

So he wasn't sure how to take this. Did Ed actually just feel in the mood for that sort of thing or was he missing someone? Not Resembool, unless the reason he'd left was for something that he just couldn't continue on with. He couldn't read Ed's expression, only that it looked a little lonely for once. Perhaps it was Alphonse? He mentioned he had called. They had been incredibly close and now . . . all of a sudden, they weren't together.

It must have been homesickness. Not literally a home, because they had burnt down the home they did have long ago. Their home was each other.

"I might have the ingredients for that," he agreed finally, heading into his fridge to look for vegetables. "I've heard Pinako Rockbell makes a mean stew, though, so I doubt I can live up to her standards."

"Probably not," Ed agreed without preamble. "But you never know. I don't fuckin' care as long as I can't taste the milk."

Ah. Yep. It was the milk. "I'm pretty sure I can manage that much," he laughed.

It was probably the least amount of talking Roy had ever heard when dealing with the fiery blond, but he found that he strangely appreciated it while he prepared their dinner. Ed was always surly, and bitter, and he always hid his feelings behind a defensive wall of insults. He could blame this on the alcohol they'd consumed earlier, but he didn't think Ed was as tipsy as he wanted Roy to believe. He was beginning to lower his guard.

And Roy didn't know how to handle this new development, not really, because Ed was impossible. Untouchable. Out of his league.

"Why don't we head to the study while this stews?" he suggested finally, lowering the lid on what was going to be a massive pot of food (he knew Ed's stomach well). "I'll get the fire going."

"You're getting damn insistent about that fire," Ed growled, and ah, the insults were back as quickly as they'd gone. "I don't need your—"

"Ed. You're shivering. You've got automail, and you aren't wearing anything except a sweater." Roy pointedly raised an eyebrow at the younger man. "I would really prefer my subordinate not develop a case of hypothermia while sitting in my kitchen, if it's all the same to you."

"Motherfucker."

"I'd rather not, if it's all the same to you."

Ed's eyes narrowed at him suspiciously, but he did finally stand with an exasperated sigh, stumbling upright.

"What's wrong with your leg?" While he was at it . . .

"Nothing," he spat back, immediately defensive again. Roy wondered how Al ever managed to get his brother to admit any of his secrets to him.

"I'm not blind, Edward," Roy pointed out dryly as he led the way to his study. "You've been limping and favoring your better leg all day. If you want me to send you back into the field I need to know what limitations you're going to have. Unless you really would like to be stuck in a lab for the next two months while we go out and figure out what's going on with this alchemy?"

He was predictably met with silence at first, and he bent to snap his fingers and ignite the wood in the fireplace while he waited. The warmth was welcome; he breathed out softly as the heat hit his face and seeped into his bones. If he was feeling the cold this vividly, then he could only imagine how his younger companion was actually feeling.

"Fuck," Ed whispered. "I mean . . . really, fuck, why do you always have to do shit like this?"

"At least you can't say I don't care."

"Yeah." And was that . . . a hint of gratitude in his voice?

Roy rose to his feet and gestured towards the couch. "Sit, and you can tell me what's going on. Don't lie to me. I need you to be honest. I need to know that I can rely on you while we try to work out this mess."

"My port is pulling at the skin," Ed decidedly announced as he flopped onto the couch in much the same fashion as he had on the kitchen chair. "Think it's cause of all my muscle atrophy shit. The leg is probably too heavy right now. Nothin' to worry your pretty little head about, Mustang."

It was plenty worrying to Roy, though, as evidenced by his immediate frown as he joined Fullmetal on the couch. What . . . What sort of pain was that? It had to be absolutely miserable, but Ed was grinning and bearing it like it was little more than a dog bite. His tolerance of pain was almost as astounding as his ability to manage ten utterances of fuck in one sentence. The worst part was that in spite of knowing, he was still going to take Ed back out into the field in his condition. He needed his expertise. Roy was often considered an alchemical genius, but his knowledge was very specific to what he did. He might have seen the Gate and (unwillingly) performed the taboo, but it had never been something he truly understood. Edward Elric, on the other hand, had knowledgeably and successfully performed human transmutation in order to bring his brother's body back into the world. And Roy needed this knowledge, because dealing with the problem they were suddenly presented with was walking a very tight rope. It involved precious lives.

And if there was one thing Roy knew about Ed, it was that he would protect those close to him no matter what it took.

"Have you tried propping it up?" he finally asked, pulling his thoughts back to what the immediate problem was.

Just as expected, Ed wrinkled his nose. "What?"

"Propping your leg up," he explained patiently. "Taking the strain off of the port by not putting any pressure on it when you can help it. I'm aware you can't just take the automail off; it causes pain whenever it's reattached, yes?"

The blond was silent for a good moment, his eyes locked stubbornly on the opposite wall of the study. He was going to refuse the suggestion of help, again. Not that he was surprised. He just wished that he would trust him a little. Or that he would care about his own health.

So it was to Roy's own surprise when Ed suddenly twisted around on the couch and swung his ridiculously heavy leg up onto his lap. He stared down at the offending foot in alarm. "All right," Ed answered. No, sneered.

"At least take your boot off," Roy choked out, even if mentally he was . . . hyperventilating just a little bit. This was an unexpected development. The Ed he knew wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole. And granted, he wasn't actually touching him considering his leg was _metal_ but this was still far, far closer than he ever would have expected.

"It's not like it _smells_ ," Ed pointed out, but he leaned forward anyway, his head barely two inches from Roy's shoulder as the boot was removed. The younger man seemed to be breathing very easily, comfortably, and Roy found himself swallowing thickly. Ed was impossible. He reminded himself of that. Ed was a ray of light that he would just darken, blacken. They'd both been through shit. But Ed bounced back, time and time again, and Mustang felt like if he tried to reach out . . . if he tried to have a chance, he would just make him drown.

But that didn't make him question why Ed was so comfortable around him now.

And he certainly didn't find the nerve to push him away.

"What did you think about?" he asked, glancing up at Ed again. "I mean, you had three years of silence. Your mind was the only thing you still had."

"Anything. Everything. The stupidest shit I could think of." Ed frowned. "Arrays. Al. I thought about Al a lot." The frown stayed, but he looked up again at Roy, his golden eyes almost too piercing for Mustang to meet. "You."

His heart leapt into his throat. "Me?"

"Yeah. I felt . . . guilty."

Well . . . that wasn't what he'd been expecting, or secretly hoping to be honest. But that begged an entirely different question.

He didn't have to ask, because Ed immediately elaborated. "Because you were there. We got you involved right from the beginning, And then when Pride forced you to try human transmutation you got your eyesight taken. And I . . ."

"You blamed yourself."

Ed made a face but he certainly did not deny it.

"You blame yourself far too easily," he told him quietly. Part of him wanted to pat him on the shoulder, or even his foot since it was conveniently right there, but that would have been getting too close. He knew to keep his distance. "It was my obsession over Maes' death that made me the last sacrifice. They knew that they could get to me. There was no one else they could use. No one else was strong enough for them."

"Way to toot your own horn, Mustang," Ed snorted.

"If the shoe fits," he answered smugly, but then shook his head almost immediately. "No, I just want you to know that were it my own decision, I would never have done it. You advocated so strongly against it after your own mistakes. It was knowing that that stopped me from actually trying. And as you can tell, there was no lasting damage. I can see you perfectly fine."

"Yeah, about that. Marcoh used his stone on you, didn't he? It's the only thing I could think of that might have reversed it."

The venom in Ed's voice set him back for a moment. At least until he realized that it wasn't directed towards him. "I know that you wouldn't have wanted me to use it, but I'm not afraid to move forward to reach my goal. I still plan to become the Fuhrer. It's the last thing I can do for Hughes, now that he isn't here anymore."

"Yeah, cause you aren't getting your fucking cenz back until you make it anyway."

"Was that all you thought about?"

"Not for three years, no. But I don't want you to get a big head so that's all you're going to hear out of me." And, unsurprisingly, Ed wiggled five automail toes against Roy's leg to quite skillfully get him to drop the topic.

Roy hastily obliged.

"I told Al to call here," Ed finally said out loud, glancing over to the phone situated by the couch. "He's dying to know what happened but I couldn't tell him over your tapped ass phones." He paused briefly, but continued on just a moment later, without input. Roy suspected he was rambling because he was no longer a fan of silence. He'd probably had more than enough of that for three years. "He's doing fine, he made it to Xing. Think he's dating May Chang. That little alkahestrist princess with the fucking rat panda shit. Knew that would happen. Wonder if she showed him how to do that pulse shit like he wanted to learn."

"Is she coming here with him?"

"He's not coming," was the flat, decisive reply. "If I hadn't accidentally picked up the fucking office phone thinking it was you he wouldn't have known I was still alive in the first place."

Roy raised an eyebrow. "And what makes you think he's not coming?"

"I told him not to. Don't want him here." And then, softer, "I want him safe. Away from me. I always get him into fucking everything. I always get him hurt."

"Ed."

He scowled. "What?"

"It's Alphonse. His brother, the only family he has left, just came back from the dead. And you think he's going to stay in Xing without coming to see you again, to make sure you aren't really just a ghost playing tricks on him? He loves you. And he needs you as much as you deny needing him. Even if you have gotten him hurt in the past. There's a reason you've learned from your mistakes. It's so you can avoid making them again."

Unsurprisingly, Ed looked like he was going to fight that claim and probably call Mustang a cheesy sap on top of it all. But Roy was right, and both of them knew it. Eventually the blond's gaze dropped in something akin to regret. "I just don't want something to happen to him if he gets involved in this Gate mess. Because I know he'll want to stick his nose in it. He's too curious for his own good."

"Then we will make sure nothing happens . . . to either of you. I and my team will do everything we can to ensure that."

Ed's jaw tightened.

Not for the first time, Roy got a rather bad feeling that there was something else Ed was hiding from them all. Something that made Ed scared. "What is it?" he asked, pressing his luck again; the younger alchemist had been surprisingly forthcoming so far.

But Ed just pulled his automail leg off of Roy's lap with a small grimace and said blankly, "You should probably check on the stew."

And that, he realized, was going to be all he was going to be able to get out of him, because the more he pressed, the tighter the other was going to be strung. He stared pointedly at Ed but did not press the matter. Besides, the stew was kind of more important for the time being.

Dinner was a success, considering the pot was empty by the time Roy pushed away his bowl and Ed looked like he was about to fall asleep. "Do you plan to stay up and wait for Al to call?" Roy questioned as he brought the dishes to the sink and started up the warm water. There wasn't much to wash; Ed plates were so clean he had probably licked them when Mustang wasn't looking.

"Yeah, I'm just gonna crash on your couch anyway. When are my funds going to be restored?"

"Not until next week, I'm afraid." He paused, couldn't believe he was about to say this. "You can stay here until you get the funds to get an apartment, if you don't want to stay in the dorms."

Ed shot him a disbelieving look, but he studiously ignored it, instead lightly scrubbing the top of a plate while he waited for an answer. Quite frankly he wondered if he would even take no for an answer. Seriously, the dorms were unlivable. How the Elric brothers had managed it whenever they were in Central was beyond his knowledge. Then again, Ed had a propensity for sleeping in the worst position in the worst areas (someone once told him he slept on top of Al's armor on the trains, and it was then that he knew Fullmetal was pretty hardcore).

"Guess I could. Need your phone anyway," was Ed's response finally.

"I have a guest room you could use."

This was too much for Ed, though; he caught the nose wrinkle. "Nah, couch is good. Just lead me to the bathroom and shit."

"Suit yourself," Roy chuckled and shrugged, then went back to his dishes.

Sometime between then and putting his plates back in the cabinet, Edward had retreated back into the study; Roy found him there on the couch, his leg propped up again as he pored quietly over one of the many books he had in there. Roy knew to simply back away at that point and leave Ed to his own devices. Interrupting either Elric while they were reading or studying meant certain death.

So Roy went upstairs for a very much needed long shower and a breather. It had been the longest day he'd probably ever experienced aside from the Promised Day. Ed had returned, making a ruckus in headquarters, then the issue with Nina appeared. And now he suddenly found himself with an enemy he didn't know if he could take out. The way Ed had acted made it seem like Father may have been a walk in the park compared to this.

Compared to bringing the dead back to life.

And it was obvious whoever it was happened to be targeting Ed, or someone from his team. Not many people were aware of what happened with Nina and her father. And even less knew the impact it had on the Elric brothers. There had been a notable change after that incident. A notable change that, while it had helped Ed mature, had dragged him even further down into his guilt trip. Nina was practically a slap in the face to him now.

You couldn't save a little girl? Well, I can. I can bring her back to life.

Roy could think of so many people Ed hadn't managed to save, so many he'd wanted to. And he blamed himself for every last one of them because he shouldered all that sorrow and turned it into something he had failed to do. There was no way Ed could have saved Nina. There was no sign. But he still believed it was his fault. How many more could this person bring back?

He didn't fully understand the situation—certainly, the Elric brothers would understand the concept much faster than him—but he understood that Ed was worried about this. And if Ed was worried, then he was most certainly worried as well.

He stepped under the hot shower, running his fingers through his hair with a long sigh of relief. Tension he hadn't even known was present in his body melted off of him in waves. Whatever the issue, they had saved Amestris from Father. They could save Amestris from whoever this person was too.

And really . . . really, what harm was there to a person bringing the dead back to life?

If only . . .

No. He wouldn't go that far.

He'd gone down that road once before, and he'd almost destroyed himself because of it. He would not place his hope in things that were not meant to be.

Roy climbed out of the shower a good twenty minutes later and dressed for bed. It was quiet downstairs, so it seemed Al hadn't called yet but Roy intended to go to sleep without waiting up. Ed would need to be in the office later than him anyway. He slipped downstairs to inform the younger alchemist, only to find Ed himself passed out on the couch, the book he had been reading sliding half off of his chest.

He couldn't resist a fond smile at the sight; Ed's mouth was open as he snored lightly, and his shirt had ridden up to expose part of his stomach. He'd never say it to his face (for fear of being transmuted) but Edward looked adorable and entirely vulnerable in that moment.

Quietly, he placed the book back on its proper shelf and extinguished the fire. A thick blanket was draped over the armchair next to the couch; he lifted it and covered Ed with it, half expecting him to jerk up in sudden alarm. Instead, he just snuggled further into the new warmth and turned his head a bit to face the inside of the couch.

With another gentle smile at the sight, Roy left the room, shutting the light out.

With the house locked up and taken care of for the night, he could finally slip into his own bed. He sank into a blissfully dreamless sleep, one that was not granted to him often. For once, he would actually get a full night's rest.

Or he might have.

"Mustang!"

He shot up like a rocket in the bed, the scream ringing in his ears as though it were much louder than it had been. In fact, he felt like he'd imagined it; perhaps he'd actually been dreaming but hadn't realized it?

But no, because something felt off. Something in the air felt tense and heavy, and he looked around his room, half expecting someone to be standing there. It was empty, but it didn't make him feel any better. He couldn't place the voice, couldn't place the nagging sensation that there was something very important he wasn't thinking about.

He listened.

There was no noise.

So he had imagined it. He'd definitely imagined it, because he knew he'd locked up before he went to bed, and unless someone had magically broken through the trap array he'd set up against the door, then nothing could have happened.

No footsteps, no voices.

He'd been fucking dreaming.

Roy sighed, running shaking fingers through his hair, and slid back down against his pillow. Why was he so paranoid? Was it because he thought that at any minute, the Gate might do something else?

Was he scared that something would happen to him?

No, that wasn't it. He was scared something would happen to Ed. He had a nagging feeling that Ed wasn't as safe here as he wanted to be. And he wanted to protect that, no matter what. He didn't know the first thing about fighting back against the Gate, but he would find a way, if it meant saving Ed from it.

But he could worry about that more tomorrow. He closed his eyes.

And then, faintly,

"Fuc—Roy!"

He was out of bed and running downstairs in less than five seconds. Ed. _Edward_. He'd been thinking about him, but not registering that he'd been downstairs, that the bad feeling had to do with the exact thing he was worried about. The shout had been strained and breathless.

Roy stopped short at the foot of the stairs, his hands poised to snap and fill the room with fire at any moment. He could barely see with the lights off, but he could hear perfectly well. And it was what he couldn't hear that was frightening, because the room was silent. He forced himself to slow, to hold his breath, and to listen.

Silence.

And then a thump, and the sound of shattering glass, and he was taking off for the study, flipping the light on with one hand while the other was held firmly in front of him. Ed was on the floor, but he ran past, straight for the window with tinkling glass still falling from its jagged edges.

He could see nothing in the darkness of the night, and he snapped, letting the flames light up the area outside his window.

The yard was empty.

"Who did you see?" he demanded, whirling back around to face Ed. His voice was laced with the authority he'd come to adapt to military life. He was all business now, even if his innards were churning. He'd been upstairs, sleeping peacefully, and Ed had been attacked. He could have been . . .

But Ed didn't answer, because he was on the floor face down, his back arched in the floor as he gagged and coughed up his dinner. His single arm was propping his body up, eyes squeezed shut in clear pain. Roy immediately dropped his hand and dropped down beside him.

"Didn't see," Ed ground out, and there was something about his voice that threw Roy off. It was gravelly and forced. "They knocked me on my stomach, made sure I couldn't see the . . . fucking _shit_ ," he coughed, gagging again.

"Let me see," Roy managed, pulling Ed's thin frame up into a sitting position. Ed should have been able to fight the person off. Should have, but he was one limb down and he'd been dead asleep. And he was weak from his three years with the Gate. He had trusted that Ed could handle any danger. And someone had just tried to kill him because he'd been unable to fight back.

Edward's hand had risen to cover his neck, his gaze pained but defensive.

"Don't be stubborn, just this once," Roy hissed, reaching out to tug his hand away.

Bruises were already forming. Bruises circling Ed's neck, cleanly in a ring.

A thick wire remained beside him, and Roy cursed; someone had tried to strangle him to death.

Someone had known Edward Elric would be at his house, and someone had broken in with the intent to kill him.

And because of his slack protection, the person he cared the most deeply about had almost died in his own home.

Sorry for the delay on this chapter! Classes have been frantic the last few days so I am trying to keep up with everything.


	9. Screw

One minute he was asleep, and the next he found himself on the floor, a foot planted on his back to keep him down. Ed wiggled, of course, but his arm was underneath his body and he couldn't very well seem to get the weight off of him long enough to pull it free. Damn only having one arm right now.

There had been no alarm bells going off in his head, and he was very good at sensing things in the dark now. He wasn't a heavy sleeper. This made everything about ten times worse because he _should have sensed someone was there_.

The person jerked forward, two dark limbs shooting out on either side of his head to wrap something around his throat. He gagged, feeling a thick wire tug, and tried to call to Mustang. But he had no idea how long he'd been asleep; the other man was probably fast asleep in his own bedroom. He tried again, but nothing came out; the wire was very quickly cutting off his air.

He twisted, tried to get the person's foot off of his body, and whoever it was momentarily lost their grip on the wire. He dragged in a breath and yelled out, "Mustang!"

Pain sliced out along his neck as his assailant reaffirmed their grip and yanked viciously. They were trying to kill him for sure, not just warn him. Great. Why couldn't it ever be a warning?

He coughed and hacked against the tight pressure in his throat, finally managing to worm his arm out from under him. Not that it did much good; now he couldn't twist around to grab at the foot on his back. And what a large foot it seemed to be, which made it even more frustrating, but Ed's shoulder was not fucking double-jointed and there was only so far he could reach.

He struggled, again, more, and the wire slipped but just pressed into a different part of his neck. It was dark in the room, but he could already tell his vision was going hazy; where the hell was Mustang?!

He growled out sharply, about the only noise he could muster, and was rewarded with a quick gasp. For the first time he noticed that even though the movements were quick and precise, and their grip kept tightening, something about this person seemed . . . _hesitant_.

He used that to his advantage, twisting his body again with whatever vestiges of strength he had left in him. The wire slipped again, and he took the opportunity to suck in a huge, loud breath.

"Fuc—" he started as the wire tightened _again_ , "Roy!"

That time, fucking _finally_ , he heard the loud thump from upstairs that signaled the older man's awareness. His assailant heard it too, and violently jerked away from him. He tried once, briefly, to reach out and grab at them, but missed, and in the next moment he was curling inward on himself, hacking and throwing up the delicious stew they'd had for dinner.

The window shattered outwards, rebound glass flying into the room, and then the lights flooded on. He heard Roy run past him towards the window, heard the loud, decisive snap, but there was no rewarding scream.

Whoever it was, they'd already gotten away.

Damn it.

* * *

"It astounds me," Roy told Ed as he scrubbed insistently at his precious carpeted study floor (sorry not sorry), "how you can't even make it one day in Central without someone coming after your throat. Quite literally. Just how many people did you piss off before you died?"

Ed glowered at the man on the floor from where he had moved to the couch, but he didn't bother to answer back (it wasn't the point). Besides, he was too busy nursing his motherfucking mass of bruised throat he'd recently acquired. Honestly it felt like Mustang had shoved one fabric-covered hand far down into his mouth and decided to snap. And _contrary_ to what the royal bastard was saying, no one had gone for his actual throat in years, thank you very much, and never with a piece of fucking _wire_. That was some next level shit right there. Even he had no idea what to make of that stunt. Angrily, he drained another glass of blissfully cooling water, letting its chill brush away a bit of the flame still flickering inside.

"I don't get it," Mustang mused out loud as he sat back, the floor relatively clean once more. "There's only one break-in point in the room, but the glass shattered when your attacker ran off. So how did they get in?"

"Beats me," Ed muttered, and then winced; talking felt like pulling a piece of very spiky barbed wire up his throat and against his vocal cords. "Wasn't even aware someone was in the room until I woke up on the fucking floor."

"They definitely didn't come through the front door. I have an array that goes off if anyone tries to force the door open, but nothing was set off."

The implications of that meant someone might have a key to Mustang's house. And Ed had a feeling Mustang didn't exactly give those out lightly. So yeah, that was weird . . . weirder was the fact that Mustang had defense mechanisms for the house and whoever the hell had attacked him had come in likely knowing this. It meant that this person was a man—or woman—on a mission.

It also unfortunately meant that this wasn't going to be the first time they tried something like this, because they must have definitely wanted him dead to be so obvious about it. He groaned in annoyance; thinking too hard hurt right now, seriously. He went for another drink of water only to find with a scowl that the glass was empty.

Roy stood from the floor and came to sit beside him. He reached over top of Ed, plucking the phone from its cradle. At that point Ed realized for the first time since his violent wake-up call that his brother had never phoned again. It was early morning in Amestris now, and even though he knew there had to be some sort of a time difference, it was still . . . worrying.

"Riza?" Roy was saying into the phone receiver. "I—yes, I know what time it is." He cleared his throat. "Lieutenant Colonel, I need you to gather the team and get to my house. There has been an attack, and an assailant is on the loose at this current time. Yes . . . now. Thank you, Riza."

"Al never called."

"I noticed." The phone was placed back on the hook. "Perhaps he's instead making haste to come and see you. There's also a possibility he's asleep and planned to call you when he woke up. I understand Xing is approximately five hours ahead of us." Roy shifted on the couch, his dark eyes now level with Ed's own. "Let me see."

"You already looked," he answered defensively.

"Unless you'd like a trip to the hospital . . ."

Ed quickly lifted his head.

Surprisingly, Roy's hands were gentle against his skin as they probed the tender flesh of Ed's neck. He bit his lip, feeling awkward, and glanced off to the side as the Flame checked him over more thoroughly than he had earlier. They were far too close for comfort. Or maybe it was the fact that their closeness felt comfortable that made it weird? Roy smelled like smoke and the shampoo he always used on his hair, and how was there any possible way he couldn't react to that? Roy Mustang was far, far too attractive for his own good.

It wasn't even remotely fair.

"They didn't just wrap and pull," Mustang murmured eventually, his voice tight with concern now. Ed seriously hoped he wouldn't decide to ship him off to the hospital anyway. He'd had more than enough of those in his lifetime, thank you very much. "It looks like they kept losing their grip and then readjusting it."

"You know me," he managed to snort, "wouldn't let them get me that easily. Plus they . . . didn't seem to have a good grip on it in the first place. Fucking lousy assassin if you ask me. Not that I'm complaining." Mustang's thumb brushed against one particularly nasty area just above his Adam's apple; he couldn't hold back the visible flinch of pain.

"I'll be right back," Roy announced shortly, rising fluidly from the couch to leave Ed alone for a moment.

For the first thirty seconds, he just sat still, staring at the doorway the other man had just disappeared into. Then he slowly pulled his legs up onto the couch, wrapping his one arm around them protectively. He didn't want to admit to anyone, especially himself, how much the encounter had scared him. It wasn't like it was the first time he'd been jumped in his sleep. It wasn't even the worst he'd been hurt when it had happened. But the years inside the Gate made him different. Inside. He got scared of things like he was five again, experiencing his first alchemic rebound.

He thought he'd been through hell when he tried to bring their mother back to life. He thought he'd been through hell when fucking Kimblee blew up the mineshaft and he found a rusty metal beam spearing his side. But this was an entirely different kind of hell.

"I brought bandages," Mustang announced quietly as he returned, holding up the thick fabric. "At least your skin isn't broken, or it might have been even worse. Stay out of the office for the day. If you show up I will just send you back to the house, you got that?"

"Mustang."

The Flame Alchemist paused in front of the couch and studied him quietly, probably just then figuring out that something was a little off in the room. Then his gaze lifted solidly to meet Ed's, and the expression on Roy's face made him want to clam up again so badly.

But he didn't.

"In Ishval. Or . . . well, after. How did you . . .?"

"React to situations like this one?"

Ed nodded, his mouth suddenly even more dry. He wished he had refilled his glass of water so he could do something that didn't involve staring at his gleaming metal foot like he'd just realized it was there.

The couch dipped again with Roy's weight. "Lift your head."

He did, now taking a sudden interest in the ceiling instead. Mustang gingerly began to wrap the stark white bandages around the mass of aching bruises.

"Did I ever tell you," Roy said conversationally, "that for a short stint, I indulged a little too much in my whiskey?"

"Never pegged you for liking the booze." Ed flinched and pulled his arm up in an automatic defensive movement; some of his hair had been caught within the bandages.

But Roy just hesitated slightly before reaching back, his fingers warm and gentle as he rescued the thick strands from the confines of white linen. "Well, I was for a while," he answered softly. "And I never would have come out of it so quickly if it weren't for Maes. But yes, Edward. For a small time, the only thing I found to help me cope was losing my inhibitions."

Ed swallowed thinly; he didn't like the implications of that. Mustang had always been strong and confident; imagining him drunk all the time was weird and a little nerve wracking. Dealing with something like alcohol to take care of the way he was . . . it would always be remembered, for his entire lifetime, and he could see that happening to him. He could see trying to take the edge off with a drink. If it got too bad. "So then, how . . ."

"There is a reason Maes was my best friend in spite of his obnoxious obsession with his family," Mustang replied with a smile, fastening the clip to keep the bandages securely in place. "He pulled me back up onto my feet and gave me a goal to fight for, and promised to support me along the way. He gave me someone I could trust and count on whenever I needed it. That's why I think you should suck up whatever insecurities you have and let Alphonse come to Central. He is just the sort of distraction you need. He is that person that you trust enough to leave your life with."

Before Ed could smack his impulsive brain with a theoretical hand, he blurted out, "I trust you too, though. Maybe . . . Maybe even as much as Al."

The look of surprise on Mustang's face was enough to make Ed instantly regret his words, but at this point he had no choice but to forge forward. After all, one who digs a hole ought to lay in it . . .

"Oh? I thought I was just a lousy bastard."

"Fuck, Mustang, that hasn't been an insult in years. You should know that. If you were an actual bastard I wouldn't have mooched money off of you that one time. Well, no, I would've taken it but not given any money back."

"Money you still owe me back, by the way."

"I don't owe you shit until you become the Fuhrer."

"Ah, that was the agreement, wasn't it?"

Ed realized, suddenly and embarrassingly, that neither of them had moved away from one another after Roy had finished with the bandages. Their faces were dangerously close together at this point as they talked. What the hell was he even doing? Mustang was his C.O. for one, and then there was the fucking obvious fact that he wasn't fucking _attracted_ to . . . except. Except he was. He was, and he shouldn't have been, but he wanted . . . no, he needed that distraction they were talking about. And whether it came from trust, or support, or who the fuck knew what else, Mustang was the one _here_ for him right now. Plus, he'd have to be blind to have not noticed the bastard's wandering eyes, and the desperate relief he'd shown on his face when Ed had first opened his eyes after the Gate spat him back out. He shifted awkwardly on the couch, his gaze trained on the tempting lips currently presented to him. He couldn't be doing what he was about to do.

"I—"

The sudden loud, rhythmic knocking that sounded at the front door saved him before he could say anything he would later regret. Both he and Mustang jerked away from each other, and a sudden awkward taste permeated the air. Ed coughed, righted himself, and grabbed his empty glass of water to find something, _anything_ to distract himself with.

Luckily, in spite of the very early hour, Riza Hawkeye went about business as usual and started to lay into Roy.

"Sir," Ed heard her say calmly, "your front door was unlocked."

Oh.

Huh.

He stopped abruptly, the faucet water flowing over the top of his cup and down over his hand. Mustang had said he had an array that would have gone off if anyone forced their way into the house. He wouldn't have checked the array without locking the door. But there were no signs of anyone breaking in. If the door was unlocked, that was how they had come in. But they couldn't . . .

There were no signs.

He dropped the cup into the sink, thirst forgotten in his haste to get to the front door. Unceremoniously he shoved past one very startled, bedraggled Havoc to kneel at the doorknob. "Ed?" Roy questioned in surprise, but he ignored the General; he frowned, his fingers hovering just above the elaborate circle carved into the wood. He didn't dare actually touch the circle; some arrays like the one Roy used reactivated whenever it was touched, rather than only working once. The small addition in the corner said that it was a rechargeable array. Rather, he was searching for the heartbeat breathing of light that always emanated from an array-in-waiting.

"How does this work?" he asked finally. "I want the details, not just an overview." Because he knew, obviously, but he wanted Mustang's team to understand it too.

Roy cleared his throat and stepped across to join Ed next to the door. "I reset it every night before I go to bed. If anyone enters after I've activated it for the night—specifically from the outside because it won't go off if I open the door to let someone inside—an alarm system will sound and the floorboards will rise up to grab them so they can't move."

"To clarify, does the door _have_ to be forced open? Or does it go off for anyone who tries to get in, even if the door itself is unlocked?"

"It will go off for anyone if it's opened from the outside."

Ed nodded and looked over at Hawkeye pointedly. "So even if the door was unlocked, Mustang's array would go off if someone had come inside as long as it was activated."

He turned, stepped outside, and closed the front door. Without so much as a second's pause, he pushed it back open, stepping in while Roy hastily backed away when he realized what Ed was about to demonstrate.

It wasn't an alarm system so much as a chart of sharp alchemical vibrations throughout the house. It wouldn't make any actual noises. Ed felt them at the same time as hands rose up from the hardwood floor, grasping at him. Roy clearly felt it, judging by the distorted look on his face. The others simply looked around in confusion, wondering if it hadn't worked.

"The alarms . . ." Falman started to say.

"They went off." Ed glanced between Hawkeye and Mustang, his heart beating a panicked pulse. "If the door is unlocked, then that was the point of entry. But the intruder wasn't . . ."

"They bypassed the alchemy entirely without setting the array off. Their body wasn't detected," Mustang realized.

Ed nodded. "And they knew that before they ever came in."

The array had never gone off when the intruder came inside. Ed had been the one to set it off just now, so it had never even been triggered in the first place. It left two options: either Mustang had actually left the door unlocked and their person of interest found a different entrance . . . or they were dealing with something beyond even Ed's expertise.

Well, shit.

"Havoc, Breda, check all the rooms and the windows, make sure we aren't making up any false theories. Ed, couch, now."

"But I—"

"You look pretty shaky, Boss," Havoc pointed out.

"Perhaps we should reconvene in the General's study after we have investigated more thoroughly?" Hawkeye tactfully suggested. "Edward should be included in this investigation, provided he does eventually decide to take care of himself . . ."

A gun clicked in the room, and Ed reluctantly decided that maybe he _should_ go sit down for a while.

A more thorough investigation did not lead to any other spots the assailant could have gotten into, which meant that their very frightening theory was correct now. Ed glared at the floor from his spot on the couch he'd been confined to; admittedly, now that the shock from the situation had worn off, he felt pretty much like shit. He had retrieved his glass of water and was nursing it now, suddenly unwilling to get up.

Al still hadn't called. He didn't know whether he was annoyed or concerned.

"Ed," Roy said quietly, sitting down next to him. The other team members filed in, taking seats on the floor. "What happened, exactly? What do you remember? Anything weird."

"One thing," he answered, lips pursed down again. "They whispered something really weird before you came barreling downstairs like a fucking madman—good job, by the way, sleeping through me calling you. Fucker."

"I'm sorry, your voice was just so _small_ that I couldn't hear it."

"Fuck you."

"Anyway," Hawkeye sighed.

Ed coughed, took a long drink of water, and said, "They whispered something. Something most assassins don't say I'd think."

"And that was?"

". . . I'm sorry."

He was pretty sure the temperature dropped ten degrees in the room. Well, for the most part.

"That isn't unusual," Breda commented with a casual shrug. "They were probably hired by somebody. Or being controlled by alchemy."

"Alchemy doesn't work that way," Ed scoffed in reply.

"The thing that makes it unusual," Mustang interjected intently, "is that the assassin wasn't altogether sure of what they were doing. They had to keep readjusting their grip on the wire they were using. Ed's neck isn't just one clean bruise."

"Was kinda like they were fighting with themselves, only the meaner half kept winnin'."

"So you think this has something to do with the Gate."

Ed turned quickly to face Hawkeye. The Lieutenant Colonel had made her way over to the shattered window while everyone else was talking. Her gun was holstered, so there was no threat any longer, but it was very clear that she was not happy with the situation at hand.

He could only be honest and nod. "The only explanation for someone breaking into a house sealed with alchemy is that whoever it is has some connection to the Gate. Kind of like how Father could nullify western alchemy with the philosopher stones under Central."

"God," Falman whispered into the suddenly silent room. "Just what are we dealing with?"

"Probably hell. Again." Ed shrugged, and then winced. Naturally he'd forgotten about his screwed-over shoulder when he was presented with a more serious situation and quite frankly a _cooler_ injury.

"Regardless of what we may be faced with in the future, the fact remains that at this moment, one of the very few people that may have known where Edward was tonight has a vendetta to kill him. They will likely try again." Hawkeye's keen stare in his direction was a silent demand for him to actually follow their orders this time around. Damn, he knew he had a penchant for going against them, but . . . he scowled, but not complying meant an extra hole would be very efficiently knocked into his body. He really did not need that on top of all of his other problems. No fucking thank you. "I suggest a guard stationed within the house until we catch the culprit, as well as a bodyguard detail throughout the day." He withered a little under her glare until it softened, just as quickly as it had hardened. "Get some rest, Edward. You've had a busy first day back on the team."

"Yeah, Boss, and you'd probably keep going til you keeled over unless someone made you sleep. Or put a sleeping pill in your water."

He leveled a nasty stare at Havoc, not at all impressed with the other's attempt at lightheartedness after Hawkeye's strangely gentle demand. He wondered who would protest if he took some ideas from his would-be assassin . . .

"Ed," Mustang murmured tentatively, "why don't you sleep with—"

"I'm perfectly fucking fine right here, thanks."

Because, oh God, if he'd seriously been about to suggest they share a room, purely for safety reasons, or worse, a _bed_ . . . he wasn't sure he could hide any bodily reactions like that. Damn Mustang's attractive form. He slumped down pointedly on the couch, made himself well and comfortable (he'd be lying if he said it wasn't a nice couch), and shut his eyes. He'd rest, alright, but nowhere near Mustang. Breathing out through his nose once, he crossed his arm over the top of his chest.

And then the phone rang.

Naturally.

"Holy shit," he swore colorfully as he jerked upright and scrambled for the receiver. "The whole damn world is out to get me today."

"Maybe one of us should . . ."

"No," Roy quickly intervened, "he's been waiting for a call all night. Chances are, it's Alphonse on the other line."

Damn Mustang for sticking up for him. He was being way too nice for his own good, and he couldn't help feeling anything but major suspicion. Ed scowled at the man and otherwise pretended not to notice as he eagerly held the phone up to his ear. "Hello? Al?"

The voice that answered him sounded far more exhausted than it should have, especially considering Ed had just talked to him hours ago and he'd sounded fine. It made his heart seize in fear; they hadn't . . . "Brother? I . . . didn't wake you up, did I?"

"No, Al, 'course not. What's wrong?" He hardly dared to ask. "You sound like something happened."

"There's something . . . are you okay? Um, like the Gate didn't bring you back from the dead, right? You remember the Gate? You were really alive the entire time?"

Although worded differently, Ed had heard something like this earlier that same day. From Mustang himself, no less. He realized in an instant what had happened. The Gate. What the hell . . . and who? "I swear, Al, the Gate said it needs me to help fix something. I swear I've been inside it this entire time." Quieter, he asked, "Who is it? Who suddenly came back to life?"

"How did you—"

"Nina, Al." He swallowed thickly. "Nina was found this morning. Looking for her dad. Whole."

And because Nina had been so important to them, to why they had been able to keep going and why they recognized their weaknesses, of _course_ Al would start crying again.

"Hey," he breathed hurriedly, squeezing the phone more tightly to his ear. "Hey, Al, come on, stop crying. You shouldn't have any damn tears left at this point."

"I-I know, it's just. Nina, Brother. Ni . . . it can't. It can't be right, but it feels like a miracle too."

"It's not right, Al. And I don't know what is going to happen to her if we try to set this right. But this um . . . well, whoever the hell it is, they don't have good intentions. They are doing this to build down our defenses. They are targeting us. Or. Me."

"We don't know that for sure," Mustang said beside him.

Ed made a rough sound and pointed very obviously to the bandages around his neck. Not for sure, his ass. He was pretty damn sure at this point, especially if the Gate was being tampered with. Everyone knew that he knew the Gate better than any other human who walked Amestris.

"Old man Fu," Alphonse finally supplied, drawing Ed's attention back to the phone almost immediately. "He wandered into the palace not long after we got off the phone, acting like he just woke up from a nap. He didn't even remember dying. He just said the last thing he remembered was the Homunculus winning."

Fu? Ed thought they were bringing back people that might have meant something to him, but honestly he hadn't known Fu all that well, save that he'd been extremely faithful to Ling. He respected the man, sure, but that didn't mean he knew him.

Which meant it wasn't relationships, it was connections in general. Anyone this mysterious villain thought might get under Ed's skin.

So who knew who else it was planning to bring back?

Ed swallowed, winced at the dryness in his throat, and answered his little brother. "I know I said I didn't want you here."

"I know that, but you can't stop me. Especially not at this point. And we're bringing Fu with us. Just in case. Ling's already given him permission."

"I was going to say," Ed cut in, "that I lied and I want you here now. I wanted to keep you out of this shit. But I need your help. You were always just as good at alchemy as I was."

"Was?"

". . . Eh. I may have picked up a trick or two."

Alphonse sniffed and laughed. "You'll have to show me. Usually when you say that I've been left in the dust again. I don't know when we'll get there, Brother. We'll have to cross through Xerxes, which could take a few weeks."

No one knew what could happen in the space of a few weeks, but even Ed's advanced alchemy couldn't get Al here any faster than that. "Okay," he answered finally. "We have a different problem to deal with, anyway."

"Is that why you sound all hoarse now?"

"Fuck you and being perceptive."

"It's in my job description. What happened?"

He squared his jaw. "Nothing."

"We had an assassination attempt on Edward," Roy spoke over him to the phone. Any hope that Al hadn't heard him went out the door as soon as he heard his brother's sharp intake of breath.

"What the hell did they do?" Al demanded.

Alphonse cursing meant whoever did this was going to get their ass beat to a pulp, and Ed almost wished that could happen right here, right now. Al really hadn't changed all that much in three years, even aside from being in an actual flesh-and-blood body now.

"They uh . . . had a wire?" Ed answered awkwardly.

"May, we're leaving now!" Alphonse hollered off to the side. "Something big is happening and the more time we waste sucking up to Ling the more time the assassin has to get to Ed again. Wha . . . no, I am not going to leave his ass to wait!"

"Al," Ed tried, even if he was sure it was futile. "We have it under control, really. The whole team is here and I think they're just planning to camp out . . ."

"Don't care. I'll call you before we leave the border of Xing, Brother. Stay put. I know how you are. I really want to see you alive again before some damn killer comes around and gets you for me." Artfully he added, "Killing you is a pleasure a brother only should have."

"I haven't warranted you killing me."

"Wanna bet?"

And then the line clicked and Ed frowned into the silent receiver, wondering what the hell he had done to piss Al off when he'd only been back in his little brother's life for the span of six hours or so. Go figure.

"What . . ."

"Going to sleep," he answered vehemently, and flopped back onto the couch again. He'd talk to them about it later. After he'd gotten some sleep because, alright, so what, he was a little tired. Just a little. And they'd kind of been overloaded with a shit ton of information at that point anyway. They probably _all_ needed a good fucking rest.

* * *

When he next opened his eyes, it was morning, his throat was dry as the damn Xingese desert, and Havoc's fat ass (not really) was positioned just so for his viewing pleasure.

"Fuck," he groaned when he sat up, raising his hand to feel through some horrendously tangled hair, "You could at least stand in a different direction. Not exactly what I want to wake up to in the morning. What are you doin' here anyway?"

"Mustang's orders," Jean answered, looking over his shoulder to grin apologetically. "He didn't want you deciding to come to work today. Wanted to make sure you stayed in to rest."

"Fucker," he muttered, because apparently, that was the only word he could coherently come up with at any point in the morning before he'd had some coffee.

He dropped his hand from his hair to feel gingerly at the bandages around his neck. Injuries always hurt about twice as bad the morning after . . . kind of like the soreness after a night of sex, really. And this was no exception. His throat felt fucking awful. On the other hand, it appeared Roy's suggestion that he keep his damn leg raised and relaxed worked; his port wasn't aching nearly as badly as it had for the past few days. Well, that was one small blessing, he supposed.

"Helping myself to his shit," he announced and rose to his feet, stumbling his way to where he remembered the kitchen to be.

Mustang, he quickly found out, did not eat from home often. All he could find were some eggs which had a questionable expiration date, a moldy loaf of bread, and blissfully, some bacon. Ed quickly popped the eggs and bacon into a fryer, then started a pot of coffee, hoping its heat would take away some of the ache in his throat now. If there was one thing the General did have in his house, it was coffee. Lots of it. There. He found one thing in common with the bastard.

Armed with his coffee, and relatively satisfied about his meal (he still wasn't sure about the eggs), he avoided Havoc and went upstairs to find the bathroom. Surely Mustang wouldn't mind if he used his shower; besides, between riding the train and then arriving at Central, he couldn't actually remember the last time he'd washed off. He was a bit amazed no one had commented yet.

The first door he slipped into turned out to be an empty guest room, the one Mustang had mentioned briefly when he'd offered for Ed to stay here. Honestly, he was thinking about taking him up on it . . . so long as the fucking bastard didn't try anything. He knew he would. He had a feeling. And he didn't know what the hell he would do if he did try something. Last night he'd almost . . . he'd almost . . .

No. He shook his head violently and shut the door, moving onto the next one. He was not going to think about what he had almost done the night before. He'd almost _kissed_ him, that was what, and why would he ever do something that gross? That wasn't . . . to say that it _would_ necessarily be gross. Because now that he thought about it, it probably would have been great. Oh, hell.

It had taken a long time coming.

But he couldn't deny it any longer, no matter how much he tried.

He was attracted to Roy fucking Mustang.

The next room he went into made him stop short, peering inside with a sort of morbid curiosity he couldn't swallow down along with his coffee. Rumpled sheets, a few clothes strewn about the floor, the overwhelming scent of whatever it was he smelled like. This was Mustang's room.

He probably should have shut the door and kept looking for the bathroom.

But what was the fun in that?

Gleefully he set his mug of coffee down on the top of the dresser and started to snoop. What sort of things did Mustang hide in this room? What sort of magical mysteries did it hold? Maybe he'd even find some sort of alchemy book relating to how he used flame . . . not that he'd use it. He knew Mustang and Hawkeye both did not want anyone else to be able to utilize it again. But still. He was curious.

He didn't pry into any closed drawers. There were some things he didn't want people finding out about him, and they were always closed away. So he'd respect that in Mustang as well. He might have been an ass all the time, but he wasn't heartless or anything stupid like that. Actually, Al liked to comment that he had more heart than he wanted anyone else to believe.

Which was probably true.

Something clattered to the floor as he skimmed his fingers across the bedside table; when he bent down to pick it up, he found that it was just a small screw. "What the hell," he murmured, placing it back on the table. What an odd thing to keep by his bed.

But then he got a second look at it.

He had never pinned Mustang for being a sentimental type, not at all, but as he looked down at the screw, he remembered once again the other man's reaction when he'd finally opened his eyes in Amestris again for the first time in three years. He remembered the absolute relief and joy on his face before the light had gotten too bright.

He remembered thinking that Mustang looked far older than he used to, and that he thought it must have been a long time since he'd been back.

But that wasn't right.

It wasn't age.

It was grief.

He reached down, touched the small automail screw, and pursed his lips into a frown.

Okay, maybe it was finally time to stop calling him a bastard, because he definitely was not one any longer.

. . . Nah.


	10. Fuck, Marry, Kill

"Sir. We have no leads. No fingerprints were extracted from the piece of wire, and we got nothing from the glass, either. The assassin may have been inexperienced with killing, but they were sure to leave no traces of incriminating evidence."

Roy sighed in frustration and banged his head against the top of his desk. Any attempt all morning to locate the almost-killer had been met with dead ends before they even got anywhere in the first place. It just confirmed what Edward had said the night before: this had something to do with the Gate, and the person behind the Gate's apparent fear. No one was ever this thorough at a crime scene. Especially not one as clumsy as this one had been.

It just didn't make any sense.

"How's Ed?" he murmured into his desk a moment later, concern quashing the frustration he was actually feeling.

Hawkeye's eyebrow raised, like she'd expected him to ask something slightly different. She must have sensed whatever tension he and Ed had been experiencing the night before. "Havoc called to say he raided your fridge and your coffee. Then he went upstairs, presumably to take a shower. He hasn't come back down yet."

"There's nothing up there for him to get into, so it doesn't matter as long as he hasn't left the house." He'd have to pick up some groceries on the way home from work, however. He knew how Ed's stomach worked, even if he wasn't eating for both himself and Al anymore. And he knew there wasn't going to be anything left by the time he got home.

"Permission to be informal?"

"Oh?" He raised his head to watch his subordinate curiously. "Is there something I'm missing?"

"Only your very obvious affection for Major Elric," Riza responded without preamble.

"I don't—"

"For the past three years, you have moped, cried, and looked about as morose as a turtle that couldn't cross the road. Now Ed is back and you look more or less like a lovesick puppy." She shrugged casually. "Considering Edward's interesting reactions last night, I would even go so far as to assume he feels the same. And frankly, sir, none of us would like to watch you hem and haw around one another without making a move. So please, either decide to keep your distance or ask him on a damn date before any of us have to deal with you moping even more."

Roy could only gape openmouthed at her as she firmly saluted and left the room. He would never have expected Hawkeye to try to push him in any particular direction, certainly not with Ed. But he did know he had feelings for him. And he also knew that he wanted to try to feel them out. He couldn't let them sit and rot as she had suggested. The past three years had proven that they would only fester and grow.

But Ed . . .

Did he really feel the same way in return? Did he feel anything last night when they had come close, when he had purposely stayed close? Ed was . . . out of this world, frankly. Attractive, more than smart, and had a fiery attitude that made it feel like Roy was abusing himself at the same time as he found it endearing. He'd grown to become a very handsome young man in spite of the Gate keeping him for three years.

No, Roy could not just sit back and pretend that he didn't see anything in Edward Elric.

He would have to do something, soon, before they wound up hating each other over it or worse. The only question was _what_ because when it came to Ed, there was no telling what he would find offensive (except when it came to his height). A date was too forward. Honestly, so was cooking him dinner and then telling him.

He'd just have to be abrupt. Or he would have to take advantage of a situation again like he had last night, just to get close enough to him to say something. No hemming and hawing, as Hawkeye had called it. And if Edward rejected him (which Hawkeye seemed to doubt, but Roy himself had no confidence) then he would just have to live with the consequences of that. And hope that Ed didn't see him as some sort of pervert . . .

But honestly, since when had he ever acted his age? Ed had always had an old soul trapped in a young body; otherwise he would never have had what it took to attempt human transmutation. It wasn't his fault the arrays had gone awry. It was the Gate's for manipulating anyone who went through it. Ed might act brash and rude, but it was just a cover for the grief he had caused himself all those years ago.

He straightened up hurriedly as the phone rang shrilly in the quiet office. Now was not the time to be thinking of having a relationship with Edward. Not while there was a more pressing issue to take care of. It wouldn't do for him to start something, only for Ed to be killed before they caught the bastard.

"Mustang speaking," he answered, then immediately relaxed when he found it was Gracia on the other line.

"I thought I would fill you in on how she is, since you did request to be kept up with her condition," the widow offered softly, a gentle smile in her tone.

"You know, with everything going on, I'd forgotten that I even asked you that," Roy answered wryly. "How is she? Any strange symptoms?"

"None at all. She did appear a little timid this morning, what with waking up in a new place all of a sudden, but she's quickly warmed back up. She and Elycia are playing together in the living room right now." She paused, cleared her throat, and forged ahead, "Did something happen?"

"Unfortunately, yes. We had a close call with an assassin last night. They went for Edward."

"For Ed? Is he alright?" She quickly added, "Does he have somewhere to stay? I can—"

"You don't need to worry about that, he's staying with me at the moment. Alphonse has been calling him. The odds that Alphonse would contact us right after Ed's return . . ."

"They are brothers. He must have somehow sensed it was time."

Roy nodded to himself, tapping the butt of a pen against his desk. Whatever the case, he was glad that Al had gotten back in touch with them. Not only for Ed's sake, but also for the team's. Alphonse had become something of a fixture in their lives after his older brother had seemingly died. They wanted to take him under their wing and protect him from anything else that could have harmed him. Not that Al needed it. He was truly a force to be reckoned with when the situation called for it.

"Please keep a close watch on Nina," he requested eventually, setting the pen down on top of an unsigned document. "I want to make sure that nothing is going to affect her. I have a feeling she was brought back to life to get to Ed somehow. He knows that she is here, but I think it would be best if they didn't meet right now. Nina would probably be very happy to see him, but he needs to stay focused until we have this situation under control."

"I understand," Gracia hummed. "I have no problem watching her. For as long as you need, Roy. Really. If I need to keep her for good, I will do that too."

He smiled, knowing that Gracia had always wanted more than one kid for Maes to fawn over. She'd never gotten that, but at least she could adopt a second daughter. "She is going to need a loving mother, I think. You are just the woman for the job."

"Why, Roy Mustang, was that a compliment?"

He settled the phone on its receiver and leaned back to sigh up at the ceiling. The past two days had been hell on his work ethic, but at least things weren't so boring anymore. He'd had three years to grieve, three years to do absolutely nothing but sit in his chair and sign papers and think of the glory days with Ed. They only ever seemed to happen with Ed.

Perhaps it was one reason why he was so drawn to him. Ed was an alchemist, first and foremost. He liked to put his talents to use, and he liked to show off doing it. He was good at it. And he was good at attracting attention. That attention, good or bad, made the military in general so much more lively. He didn't quite understand it. But everything just felt _dull_ without Edward Elric around to make a mess of things. It made him want to expand his own alchemy, to once again experiment as he used to.

But Roy just sighed and looked down at his gloved fingers. He didn't need the gloves to create alchemy anymore. All he needed to do was clap. But he was past the glory days of being a state alchemist, in his opinion. He had a higher goal. The powers he already had were good enough for him.

Still, it would be nice . . .

The phone rang again; Roy jumped approximately five feet out of his seat in fear. "What is it with the phone today?" he grumbled to himself as he picked up the phone and gingerly put it to his ear.

He immediately yanked it away again.

"Roy Fucking Mustang, you had better be keeping my patient locked up and tied to a bed until I come and get that ungrateful little dick, or so help me I—"

"And to what," he managed finally, even conjuring a bit of sarcasm to cover his otherwise startled tone, "do I owe this pleasure, Miss Rockbell?"

"We've been looking for Ed for _days_ and I just now find out he's up and gone back to Central," the fiery young blonde answered angrily. "For what I don't know, because he definitely didn't go back into the military, the bastard, but he is absolutely not ready to leave! So why don't you just send him right back down to Resembool before he gets himself killed trying to hobble around on that leg."

"He appears to be getting around perfectly fine on it, so long as he rests it once in a while." Yes, Ed wasn't one hundred percent currently, but as far as he knew, there hadn't been anything actually wrong with his leg port. Chances were, Winry was just being overdramatic.

"I just got that leg built for him last week. He hasn't even had time to adjust to it again! He took off as soon as he could stand by himself."

Now _that_ didn't surprise him. And he would certainly be more conscious to make sure he rested it fairly often until he got full use back. He understood automail reattachment was notoriously painful. Still . . .

"I can't send him back home," he answered her gently. "We have something of a problem right now that he thinks pertains to the Gate. And you and I both know that he is more fit to take care of something regarding the Gate than anyone else, par perhaps his brother. Besides." He debated whether to pause for dramatic effect; everyone in Ed's family rather seemed to like being dramatic. "Contrary to your belief, he did have intentions to stay with the military. He made a rather flashy entrance, and he is officially back on duty. He would have had my head if I tried to handle it any other way."

Stony silence met him on the other end of the line.

"You can yell at me all you like, Miss Rockbell, but none of this is my doing," he reminded her. "Edward is the one who asked for all of this."

"I'm going to kill him."

"I assure you, there's no need for that. He's already had one attempt on his life since returning. He's quite popular, isn't he?"

While Winry sputtered on the other end of the line, Roy looked up as Hawkeye poked her head in, tapping pointedly at her watch; he had a meeting in just a few moments. A very important meeting, on top of that. He nodded solidly to her and waited for Winry to finally say something comprehensible.

"You're telling me," she said slowly, "that Ed has already gotten himself into another situation? This is why he needs to come home! He can't get himself in trouble if he's here, and he certainly hasn't created a death warrant for himself in Resembool! It's only when he's there that—"

"It's only when he's here that he feels like himself, Winry," he said calmly. "He told me this himself once. Edward is not a farm boy. You should know that by now. He hasn't been one since the day he found his father's old alchemy books in the study room. And you trying to keep him there just makes him want to stay even less, I would garner. He might have stayed still longer if you hadn't constantly pestered him." He took a deep breath; it felt great to say that. "If you will excuse me, Miss Rockbell, I have a meeting that pertains to Ed, and I would really rather like to be there. Please feel free to call my personal home number if you would like to speak with him."

He hung up amidst more angry squeaks, suddenly understanding why Ed had wanted to leave as soon as he possibly could. She was a rather frustrating person to talk to, and everyone knew Winry liked him. Frankly she adored him, in spite of her fire and her propensity to whack him in the head with a wrench every time she got the opportunity.

But they were both over-excitable and their personalities would no doubt clash. If they ever did get married, it would end in disaster for sure, and a ruined friendship. Winry was far better suited for someone mellow, who would stay with her. Ed liked to travel too much, to see the world.

Which did beg the question of whether Roy was okay with that. But, thinking about it, he really didn't care so long as Edward came back at the end of the day. Whether it took a week, a month, a year.

Three years.

He'd wait.

Which meant he really needed to say something before he just watched Edward run away from him like a lovesick puppy. Because that was very possible. He was just . . . afraid of being rejected, of course.

But he could think about that later. What was important at the moment was wrapping up the case of the crater in the middle of headquarters from last month.

He adjusted his jacket in the outer waiting room before he entered, carefully adjusting his sleeves so that his stars were clearly visible on his shoulder. Roy may not have known what to do about Edward Elric, but he certainly knew how to handle military issues. He knew that he had to assert his authority as loudly as possible, from his demeanor to his physical stance. He was a Brigadier General now. One of the youngest ever in military history. And he was going to prove to them, like he did every other time, just how he had gotten his rank. He was going to go in there and dominate the floor, not giving them a single inkling of doubt that his story was not one hundred percent authentic.

Because it was utterly, completely fabricated, in any case.

Satisfied that he looked up to par for the board, he stepped confidently inside and shut the door behind him.

Immediately, a dozen pairs of eyes locked in on him and his uniform, and he was extremely glad that he had taken the extra moment to straighten up. Now, he was confident that he looked impeccable. He squared his shoulders and inclined his head almost cockily.

"Brigadier General Mustang, glad you could join us this afternoon," the Fuhrer himself stated cheerfully, nodding towards the only empty seat at the table. Roy was reminded ironically of the situation just yesterday with Ed. This felt an awful lot like an interrogation. But it was his own confidence that would prevent that from becoming a reality. "I'm afraid we have several matters to discuss today, so our time with you will have to be brief."

"Certainly," he answered as he took his seat, crossing his legs comfortably beneath the table. "I trust you have already received the written report of the final incident?"

"Of course," Hakuro sighed, tapping the aforementioned papers against the wood of the table impatiently. "We don't have all day, Mustang."

"There is nothing wrong with covering all of the bases, Major General," Grumman chastised. "If you will, please continue, Brigadier General. We have read the report but would like just as much detail coming from you."

Roy cleared his throat and went into the specifics. Earlier in the week, just two days before Ed's reappearance, he and his team had conducted a fake chase, starting with Falman catching sight of the chimera that had emerged from the crater. Naturally, there had been no real chimera, but the loose interpretation of one they had created for the sole purpose of burning was spotted by several witnesses in order to solidify their story. As it went, they had cornered the chimera, hoping to catch it and bring it back to headquarters, but it had viciously attacked and injured one of their men (this time, Hawkeye had taken the fall). Roy had no choice but to detain it the only way he knew how. Unfortunately, it had perished before they could put out the fire. The only way they could identify it was through dental records. Dental records that they had obtained from a deceased dog and a man that had disappeared some three months ago. That same man Roy's team had smuggled to Xing to protect him from a military attempt to erase his existence due to an unwilling aid to Father on the Promised Day. Officially, the man in question was missing with an order to shoot to kill.

It meshed together perfectly.

"We believe," Roy finally finished, hands clasped together politely on top of the table, "that Davis used his alchemy in an attempt human transmutation. Presumably, this was to attack Central with some sort of newfound power. He became a chimera and ran. We are unsure of how animalistic his mind had become. There have been other instances of combining a human with an animal to form chimeras. We are simply relieved that we could get this taken care of before he became a real danger to our military and to our citizens."

"Indeed, we were unable to identify the remains that were sent to our lab," Malov, a newer General stated with a nod, "but the dental records returned a positive for Davis. We have also heard of several civilian accounts of your team chasing a bulky form through the streets. It seemed to be quite a horrific sight."

"The result of human transmutation is never pretty, General," he agreed solemnly, but it was not a chimera he was thinking about. It was Ed. Ed, with his bloody missing arm and leg, and his brother's bodiless soul. No, it was never pretty. And that was why he could pull off a story such as this so easily. "A similar chimera was found some years ago murdered by the Ishvalan Scar. At the time, a child had been fused with her dog by her own father for the sake of passing the yearly State Alchemist assessment. Shou Tucker was taken care of, but the underlying problem was not."

"And once again we are reminded of the horrors of alchemy used in the wrong way," Fuhrer Grumman murmured with a frown. "If only there were a way to cut down on this sort of experimentation. Alas, we have no way of seeing what goes on in private. For all we know, unknowledgeable people have tried it with disastrous results."

"As someone who was forced to take part in Father's attempt at slaughtering Amestris, I know it is not a fate I would wish on anyone, Sir," he agreed softly. "Human transmutation can only end in more bloodshed. I wish there were a way to stop it altogether. But there is no way to halt the flow of alchemy."

"All well and good," Hakuro growled, clearly not happy with the turn the conversation had taken, "but this is a matter that can be discussed at another time, Mustang. I would hate to think you were using this story in order to gain an advantage of some sort."

"I would hate to think you would accuse me of belittling my superiors in such a way, General," Roy answered smoothly, turning his black gaze on the man with barely constrained contempt.

Hakuro wanted to be Fuhrer so badly that he was not only feeding into Grumman's hand . . . he was outright challenging those with an equal chance at the position. And luckily, Grumman knew that as well. Hawkeye's grandfather cleared his throat loudly, and Hakuro immediately snapped to attention.

"We asked the Brigadier General to provide us an explanation, General Hakuro," the old man stated with a small smirk. "The only one who is getting defensive here is you. It seems to me as though you yourself are the one wishing ill of a very faithful subordinate. I would watch my tongue. This isn't the first time this week you have been vocal about your dislike."

Ah, and the look on Hakuro's face made the entire thing unequivocally worth it . . .

"Dismissed, Brigadier General," the Fuhrer added cheerfully, with a wave. His detailed description had been thorough enough, it seemed. "I consider this cased closed, as well as the case against Davis. Good work. I might expect to see another promotion soon, between this and Major Elric's rescue."

"Sir," Roy answered respectfully, rising to dip down into a sharp bow. How ironic it would be, should he gain a promotion by lying his way through the ranks . . .

Some of the rumors might well be true at that point.

But some things were more important than honesty.

"Sir," Hawkeye greeted as soon as he stepped out of the meeting room. Her face was as impassive as always, but he knew her well enough to know exactly when she was worried about something. "Havoc just phoned. He says Edward has taken off."

. . . Well. There went his good mood for the rest of the day.

"How did he just 'take off' so to speak?" he demanded as he headed back towards his office, intent on calling his own house back to find out just what was going on. He should have known Ed wouldn't stay still all day, even if he was injured to the point where he really needed to keep resting for some time more. This was simply a hazard with Ed. He could never stay in one place for long.

"He was sitting on the couch, looking out the window. He said he was going to try to fix it but he suddenly stopped like he saw something. He jumped straight through the window. According to Jean, he seemed incredibly angry all of a sudden. When he ran outside to follow him, Edward was already gone. He thought the best course of action was to return and inform you."

"Understood. Has our office closed for the day yet?"

"The paperwork can wait until tomorrow if that is what you are asking. However, no excuses tomorrow."

Roy paused, looking over at his most trusted subordinate with one raised eyebrow. "What if I died in the middle of the night?"

Her mouth twitched. "I believe a deal with the person inside the Gate might be in order then, sir. One way or another, you will be at your desk in the morning signing papers."

"Lovely," he responded.

And then he was running for his townhouse, fearing for Ed's . . . well, not his safety, because Ed was the unreliable danger in any situation rather than the other way around. But for him. For Ed in general. Ed was strong, but he was injured, and there was no telling what he might compensate with to make up for the lack of physical ability right now. They couldn't let the military know what Ed was now capable of. Officers like Hakuro would take advantage of him in a heartbeat to further their own agendas.

Not to mention, he didn't even know what was going on in the first place. Ed had gotten mad at something, had run after something. Something near his house. Was someone watching him? The assassin from the night before, perhaps. There was also the possibility that someone else . . . that someone else had come back from the dead and he needed to get to them. But even then, there was danger. Danger that the person behind the Gate's trifling had planted that person there to lure Ed outside.

He realized five minutes after taking off outside of the gate that a car was trailing him, just five feet behind on the road. He slowed, breath puffing in his chest—he'd really gotten lazy since his time as a Colonel—and glanced sideways at the car as it pulled up.

"I don't have the time for this, Riza."

"I'm simply offering you a better solution to running all the way home, sir," the blonde woman answered with a shrug, peering out from the driver's side seat at him. He hadn't even thought to grab a car. It would have taken too much time. Running out had been faster. But running there was certainly not as fast and with just a moment's hesitation, he nodded his thanks and slid quickly into the backseat.

"How do you always manage to remember the things I forget?" he sighed as he sank down, staring out at the passerby in the chance that Ed would be spotted along the way. There was really no telling where the alchemist had gotten to. Or even if he was still able to be found at this rate. Knowing Edward, he could have left Amestris by now in his attempt to get whatever had pissed him off.

"I simply pay more attention."

Roy wrinkled his nose at her and her smug smile. It figured. Riza had always been two steps ahead of him. It was a wonder she was still his subordinate, really.

"In any case," he murmured, staring out the window again. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary as of yet, but it was all the more worrying to Roy. What if Ed had found some abandoned building to take down this mystery person in? Then they would probably never find him. He was surprisingly good at getting lost.

That being said, he was also surprisingly good at turning up when someone least expected it. Like in Roy's office yesterday. Or in the middle of a damn crater a month ago. Honestly, Ed was just good at surprises in general.

The car slowed, and Roy straightened up as he caught sight of Havoc waving frantically in front of the townhouse. He rolled the window down, leaning out to call lightly, "You don't need to wave. We would recognize your face anywhere, Jean."

"Are you saying I'm ugly, Chief?" the man asked in dismay.

"Hardly. Do you have an update for us?"

Havoc nodded, pointing down the street. "I just caught sight of him going that way. He was chasing someone with a look that probably would kill if the man would turn around long enough to look at it. Whatever it is, Ed's seriously pissed off. D'you think it could've been the assassin from last night?"

"It's hard to tell," Roy answered, climbing out of the car. He would be better off going on foot to keep from attracting attention on the off chance that Ed was about to start something. "Ed's probably pissed at about half of Central's population by this point." He turned to look at Riza and Jean, whom had both moved to stand behind him, determination set in their expressions. "Stay back behind me. We don't need to create a scene, not while we're still in military dress. Follow at a distance in case I need the backup. And . . . no matter what, if you see Ed start to use alchemy, do your best to stop him."

"Sir?" Hawkeye looked at him in confusion. "Is there something wrong with Ed?"

"He is simply more powerful than we want the military to believe. He didn't come back from the Gate without taking something with him. You know Ed. He'll do what he can to fight back."

"He took knowledge."

Roy nodded solemnly. "And the Gate has so much power that some of it has leaked into him during his time inside it. He has enough power now for the military to fear him if he were ever on their bad side. Worse, he's a genius." Roy shook his head. "He's probably win singlehandedly if anything ever happened to make him hate the military. Literally."

"Best stay on the Boss's good side, then," Havoc muttered wryly. "Get going before we have more crap to deal with than we already do."

Mustang tightened his jaw, put on his best "I am extremely annoyed but I am holding back" face, and took off down the street. He brushed easily past civilians, several of them looking like they had already been startled once that day. It was as good a sign as any that Ed had certainly been in this direction.

Roy Mustang was going to find Edward Elric.

And then he was going to kill him.

Or kiss him.

He really wasn't quite sure yet.

* * *

Thank you lovelies as always for reading! Please feel free to drop reviews to let me know what you like or what you might possibly like to see happen!


	11. Lump of Coal

"Boss," Havoc said patiently, his face twisted in a hilarious mask of confusion and regret. "I'm pretty sure the Brigadier General isn't going to appreciate you adding extra stuff to his erm . . . window."

"It won't even be noticeable," Ed insisted, throwing an arm over the couch in a bored fashion. God was he bored. Aside from finding the automail screw in Mustang's room—which he was most definitely going to ask about later once the man got out of the office for the day—there hadn't been anything interesting in the house. Hell, it was like he barely even lived here. It was probably just a place to sleep. And while Ed had no room to judge (considering he and Al had burnt their own house down before leaving it) he still thought a place someone lived in couldn't be _this_ clean. It was impossible. "All you have to do is add aluminium oxide to the glass before you put it back together. Then the next time some lunatic assassin decides they want to try to escape by smashing through Mustang's weak-ass windows, all they'll do is bounce back. It's pretty much bullet proof. He'd be totally safe."

"You should still ask him first," Jean tried to stress, his face now incredulous. "I mean, where do you even obtain this alumastuff anyway?"

"Aluminium oxide. It's almost as strong as diamond. He wouldn't even notice the difference. It may even make the glass shinier. And all you really need is a hunk of uncut ruby. You can find that everywhere in gift shops." He dug a chunk out of his pocket, because yes, he did happen to carry around extra alchemical materials everywhere on his body. So what? He was a nerd, and proud of it.

He ignored Havoc's protests, because he definitely knew what he was doing, thank you very much, and Roy would be grateful. He'd be grateful because otherwise Ed was going to make _him_ sleep down here to face off against whatever got thrown at them next instead of Ed getting the shit strangled out of him. He set down the ruby chunk next to the shattered glass and moved his hand to place it on the ground, an array already in his head . . .

And then he glanced out the window and saw a face that instantly made him want to vomit. A man that should not have existed but thanks to the traitor who had gotten inside the Gate, was standing right across from Roy Mustang's house, analyzing it with an impassive face. And Ed's single hand twisted into a fist. He wanted to punch the guy's nuts in so hard he'd be able to feel them all the way in his throat. He wanted . . .

No. No, he knew exactly why he was here. To get a rise out of him. After the assassination attempt last night, it had become very clear that whoever was behind the Gate's tampering hated Ed with enough of a passion to send people out after him. This was a way to get under his skin. And he was going to treat this right because for some reason . . . for _some reason_ he felt like doing something Roy Mustang would approve of. He'd always done the opposite, always done what he could to piss in the man's boots, but suddenly that wasn't his desire. Suddenly he decided that he wanted to show him just how much he could be trusted if it really came down to it. Because Alphonse knew it. Winry knew it.

And well, Roy probably knew it too. But still. Still, dammit, he wanted to actually show him.

"Be right back," he spat out at Havoc, and took off for the front door instead of jumping through the window like he wanted to do.

"Wait—Boss! Roy said you needed to stay here all da—"

"Yeah, well, plans change when you aren't having any fun," he hissed out, and threw himself out the front door. The man was already gone by the time he got out there, had probably seen him take off for the door. Damn it, really. Fuck. And he didn't need Havoc following him because then he'd have to reign himself in and that would be no fun, really. He needed . . . he needed to be able to take this guy out with his own two fists. Okay, one fist. He hadn't gotten the chance to finish the job last time.

He took a deep breath, swallowed thickly and ignored the uncomfortable throat scratching. Then he closed his eyes and focused on the noises the smells around him. Sight was great and all, but one good thing that had come from living in a place devoid of all sight other than _white_ was that his other senses were pretty damn sharp now. Roy lived on a quiet street. There were passerby and cars, but there wasn't a lot of yelling, screaming, running. So the second he heard feet pounding on the pavement, Ed took off to the right, just narrowly dodging Havoc's grasping hand. His automail port was killing him, frankly, but he ignored it and pushed himself faster. Pushed himself faster than Havoc could follow and faster than he needed to be to catch up to this bastard.

His eyes were open now, searching the street ahead of him and dodging people whose reactions were mixed between "Watch where you're going!" and "Isn't that the Fullmetal Alchemist? I thought he was dead!" And yeah, it was kind of nice that he was still remembered after like three years. But now wasn't the time to bask in the fame and glory, as Al called it. He passed by without a word or a wave (unless a couple of them thought his empty sleeve flapping in the air was a weak interpretation of one).

There. There was infuriatingly stupid plaid shirt, crossing a corner. Ed made the push, ignored the harsh sting in his automail port, and picked up speed.

Then he reached out with his arm, curled his fingers against the back of that damn shirt, and yanked.

And alright, so his fine motor skills still left something to be desired, because the transition wasn't as smooth as he really wanted it to be. But when it got down to it, he got the man to fly around, and he let go of the shirt to swing a slightly off-center punch at his face. It hit his glasses and not his nose, which fucking figured because he wanted to hear the satisfying crunch that came with broken cartilage, but the sound of broken glass was close enough too.

And then he shoved his face up against Shou Tucker's to breathe hotly, "You got off easy last time, fucker, but this time I'll make sure you _suffer_."

". . . Edward Elric."

He wasn't at all surprised when Tucker started to laugh, sounding like all the air had gotten stuck in the top of his nose. Ed twisted his fingers tighter and resisted the urge to punch him again. He might have wanted to kill the man with his own bare . . . hand, but that was not the kind of person he was. He was not a murderer. He had worked hard all his time in the military making sure no one ever died under his hand. Not even Pride. Not even Father. He wasn't going to break that on a man revived from the dead. Not someone this pitiful.

"Glad to see you remember me," Ed answered instead, grabbing a fistful of Tucker's ugly-ass shirt to keep from pounding his fist into the nose he'd missed the first time. "I hope you've had time to think about what you did to your daughter. Remember? About how you ruined a small child's entire life due to your own greediness? Sick bastard."

Because Edward had never forgotten, not once, It was impossible for either him or Al to ever forget. For the moment when they realized that the sweet child and dog they had gotten to know had suddenly been the victims of greed and human transmutation. He'd thought attempting to transmute their own mother had been bad. But she had already been dead, and they'd been two children desperate to be loved by her again. But this . . . Nina had been alive, and beautiful, and she had loved her father wholeheartedly. So passionately that even after Tucker had performed the deed, she could see no evil in him. She'd had no idea that what he'd done to her had been the vilest thing a parent could do to their child.

"Edward," Tucker purred, not even so much as flinching at their close proximity. "Are you still worried about that? Last I heard, my darling Nina was alive and whole once more. All thanks to _her._ You should be grateful. She thought of you. Thinks of you even now."

Her. The person behind the Gate's shenanigans was a woman. A girl or a woman, he wasn't sure. But whoever it was, they were familiar enough with alchemy to be able to do this. And familiar enough with him to know exactly who he hated. Ed swallowed back bile, suddenly feeling ill again. He wasn't sure about this. He wasn't sure about it before, when he was trapped and the Gate shoved him out. And he definitely wasn't sure about it now. What if . . . what if this person won? What if they killed him? He gritted his teeth and jerked his gaze up to meet Tucker's. He took mild satisfaction in the fact that his glasses were greatly askew and snapped down the middle.

"Who is 'her'?" he demanded.

"That would be the question, wouldn't it?" Dull eyes darted down to stare at the fist Ed had clutched in his shirt. "Perhaps if you would care to let go, I might be willing to talk like a normal human being."

"You aren't a human being. You're too disgusting to be considered a human being."

But Ed still let go, if only so he would be able to find out more about this person. He hand, however, he kept open and waiting at his side. He could feel the electric currents of alchemy running beneath his skin, aching to be used even if he didn't have an array in mind. Ah, but he couldn't let anyone know how much his powers had grown. If the military found out . . . but _still_ . . .

"Tell me," he demanded.

"She knows you very well," he breathed, stepping back to calmly readjust his shirt. "Better than you know who, for sure."

"But who the fuck is she?"

"I'm not at liberty to say, Edward." Shou Tucker smirked, or maybe smiled, but Ed could never see anything beyond evil in that face the moment he saw Nina and Alexander merged into one.

And Ed . . . snarled, twitched his fingers with the effort to keep them still. Oh, how he wished he had his other arm right now. He'd get so much more satisfaction out of punching the guy with heavy steel. As much as he hated to say it . . . he wanted his fucking automail at that moment.

"Why the hell are you here, then?"

"Me?" Tucker raised an eyebrow, almost seemed stressed out by the question. He rubbed his near-bald head with a hand as he looked for an answer. "Not sure, really. Was hoping to see Nina—"

"You are never going to see her again. Ever." He _would_ kill the man if he even thought about going to visit her, about corrupting her or hurting her again. No, this time, he was going to protect Nina. Even if when this was all said and done, Nina went back to her grave, then at least Ed would be satisfied to know she hadn't been used in this life. At least not any more than the Gate had already used her.

"Well, she's not _your_ daughter, now, is she, Edward?" The man cleared his throat and shook his head. "Regardless, that is not what I decided on doing. You seem to have figured that out already; you always were smart. You know I wasn't standing in front of your officer's house by coincidence. But the question you probably have for me is why, isn't it? Why is Shou Tucker standing outside Roy Mustang's house? My question is almost the same. Why is Edward Elric in Roy Mustang's house?"

"None of your damn business."

Okay, he was going to punch him. Again. He was going to make his face bloom red because using alchemy meant he was going to go overboard. And he couldn't. For Roy he couldn't. He dug his fingers into his palm so hard his nails bit into his skin. And then he stepped forward to swing a punch at Tucker in the middle of the street, not caring whether anyone saw him. Because they should see. They should see what kind of a bastard Tucker was, they should hear what he'd done to his daughter.

But Shou Tucker dodged neatly, his eyes wide with surprise . . . and not at Ed's movement. It was almost like . . . he'd been surprised that he'd moved away. Because Ed knew that he hadn't been expecting the punch.

Fuck.

That meant . . .

"The Gate," Ed spat out. No, not the Gate. Even the Gate had been afraid of this. That was why it needed him. No one else was stupid enough to take this on. Whoever was behind it—whatever woman was behind it—was doing this. And they knew where Ed was, they knew he had found Tucker. That was probably the whole reason behind it.

Probably the whole reason behind Tucker finding himself conveniently in front of Mustang's townhouse.

"Unfortunately," the man stated, "I would have liked to talk more before we got to this point. I do so enjoy my conversations with a genius such as yourself, Edward. But it seems the one who brought me back to life would like to have their way with me now. I do so apologize for having to kill you."

But the look in his eyes said he had no problem carrying the deed out, and Ed was now sure that whoever had broken into Roy's house the night before had not being Shou Tucker. The person who had attempted to kill him last night had apologized for what they were doing like they couldn't help themselves. Not like. They couldn't. They never had a choice. That was probably what was going to get Ed in the end. He wouldn't raise a hand against someone he cared about, no matter what they did to him. Especially not if it was involuntary. Tucker, though . . .

Oh, he'd enjoy taking Tucker out.

"Bring it on, fucker," he breathed, leaning more heavily on his flesh leg for a better stance.

"You don't quite get it, do you?" Tucker asked in reply, his arms hanging down at his sides. His eyes were a little panicked like he wasn't quite prepared for what might happen here. "The one controlling the Gate. She doesn't care how she gets to you. She doesn't care how she takes you out. In other words, she won't mind using my body to get to yours. Dead or alive. You'd have to burn this body to nothing but ash in order to stop me. Her. And you're weak. You won't kill me. You wouldn't waste years of perseverance on me. Would you?"

It was exactly what Edward had just thought and it threw him off just the tiniest bit. It threw him off because he knew, deep down in his heart, the he would never forgive himself if he turned to murder. If he turned to trying to destroy any human being, regardless of what they had done or what they were capable of. He left that to Roy. He left that to the Brigadier General because he was older, and he had always been able to shoulder that sort of burden. Ed had enough burdens to shoulder. He didn't need the death of others on top of everything else.

"You know what rhymes with Tucker?" he answered instead, mentally praying that Roy had plans to show up at some point. He had no doubt he already knew Ed had taken off.

"I have a feeling I know where this joke is going," the man sighed.

"Yeah. Damn right. It rhymes with fucker. So let's get going."

But again as Ed swung forward, this time with the force of pushing off with his automail leg, Tucker dodged, his movements oddly stiff like he was being held with puppet strings. Only this time, he didn't stop. This time, he swung back around, and both of his hands jerked up to go straight for Ed's neck.

"Not this time," Ed spat, wondering what the Gate's obsession with his neck was. Or maybe it was just that it was the easiest spot to kill someone by. Easy to snap the neck, to choke off the air. Ed defensively jerked his hand up to his neck to ward off the hands, then kept it there just in case Tucker tried for it again.

"I can't imagine you're very put off by this," he drawled, stepping back to regroup and decide a new plan of attack. Not that he had very long before the man shot forward at him again.

"It brings me great pleasure, to be perfectly honest. You wound up ruining my career and my livelihood. Literally."

"You _deserved_ it. After what you did to Nina. And your own fucking wife."

There was one thing he'd forgotten about. One very, very important thing, and he almost didn't remember until it was too late. Tucker had transmuted Nina and the family dog to keep his State Alchemist certification. Tucker was an alchemist.

And all alchemists may have specialized in something, but they all had to start somewhere.

So when Tucker whipped out a piece of chalk and began to sketch on the ground, the only thing Ed managed to say was, "Shitdamn."

Two options: Get in the line of fire and pray he didn't get hurt, or take the easy route out and just use alchemy to nullify the effects of Tucker's.

And well, aside from the fact that Mustang would've been pissed at him, he never did like to take the easy way out. What was the fun in that?

So he skidded forward, his left boot smearing the small chalk design while he snatched the stick from the man's hands. He was in and out of his range before he could really do anything; he squeezed the stick and subtly imagined up an array that would disassemble the parts of the chalk because fuck if he was going to let him get it back. The light from the reaction was too small to notice and he grinned, opening his hand to let the chalk dust fall to the ground. "So much for that out, old man," he breathed proudly. Alchemy wasn't going to be an option for the bastard, no matter what.

Or at least, that was what he thought, but the former State Alchemist seemed way too confident about the situation.

"Not much you can do with alchemy, is there?" Ed boasted confidently, trying to shake the other man's own confidence. "Especially now that I'm not asleep. That's probably why this woman—the Gate—didn't try to attack me until I was asleep at first. Am I right?" He offered Tucker a shit-eating grin. "Meanwhile, I don't need any fucking alchemy to beat your ass to a pulp."

"You're not always as bright as everyone thinks you are, aren't you?" Tucker rubbed his hands together gleefully.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I was reborn from the Gate. And you should know better than most, shouldn't you, Ed? That anyone that comes from the Gate comes back with something. What was that old phrase? Equivalent Exchange? Except it isn't true, because we always get more out of the Gate than we think we do. We alchemists do, anyway."

It was too late by the time Ed noticed what the problem was. One step backwards was not far enough to get him away from the static of Tucker's alchemic reaction. He'd been in the Gate before he came out. He'd seen Truth. Anyone that came back to life that way had to have seen it. Which meant he could perform alchemy without a circle. Which meant Ed was going to have to use his. _Shit._

Metal and stone bars rose from the ground they were standing on, the sound loud and cracking but not enough to cover up the noises of people gasping with fright. Of course they'd have an audience. Of fucking course. Ed stepped back, only to find the edge of the sidewalk and go stumbling onto his back.

"I believe this is a trick you've pulled on several of your targets as well," Tucker announced, stepping forward to stare through the bars of the constructed cage. "I can see why you use it. I've got you trapped. And Edward Elric is useless like this. Without his second arm. You can't perform alchemy like this, can you? So I have you right where I need you. And now I can take care of you, and then I'm going to go see my daughter. This was far easier than I thought it might have been."

"Listen," Ed tried, placing his hand carefully on the ground beneath him. There were too many onlookers, but he really didn't have a choice at this point. "Don't make me do this. Mustang's gonna be fucking pissed at me and the military's gonna be way too interested. Just let me out so I can beat your face in, delivery you to my C.O., and we can call it a day. Trust me. It'll save us both a lot of trouble."

"Your dedication to your officer is astounding," Tucker laughed, "but that isn't going to stop this. Even if I wanted to, you know I can't. And you lying about your abilities makes it worse. Last I saw, you trashed the chalk. So there's nothing you can do here."

"Technically," Ed replied with a frown, "I have plenty of rocks here I can scrape something together with, but that's not the point. Really. Can we just—"

"The Gate says no," Tucker said, shrugging even as his hands jerked forward between the bars to grab at Ed's ankles. "Nothing I can do about it. Can't say I'm sad to see you die again."

"Dammit. Okay. Listen. You know what happens when we come in contact with the Gate. All that knowledge, right?" He was going to have to do this. Military be damned. Roy be damned. It was the only way he was getting out of this. He'd had to be stupid enough to go after Tucker on his own. No. No, because if he'd left the guy to his own devices, then Tucker definitely, _definitely_ would have gone after Nina in his own time. And then what would he ever do if something happened to Gracia and Elycia in the process? He'd never forgive himself. Alchemy or Hughes' family. That was such an easy decision.

And at least, for a second, it gave Tucker pause. "What does it matter?" he asked, eyes raised behind his broken glasses. "It's not like you can use that knowledge."

"Except I can," Ed answered, sitting up fluidly and jerking forward until his face was inches from the cage bars. He grinned again. "Because you're forgetting something super important. You're forgetting I was trapped inside the Gate for three years. So I brought back way more than you did."

He jerked his hand up, electric blue sparking out from beneath his fingertips. Shou Tucker's eyes widened and Ed threw his hand forward, an array fixed in his mind—

" _Fullmetal!"_

The sound of a sharp snap filled the air . . . and then the sound of excruciating screams as the former State Alchemist burst into flames, a brilliant orange-white and so hot Ed had to scramble backwards in his little cage to escape from burns just from the proximity. He jerked his head around to the site of Mustang running up, Havoc and Hawkeye hot on his heels.

"You _idiot!_ " Roy hissed, clapping his hands together abruptly. The stone bars retreated back into the ground where they'd come from, but Ed didn't stand yet. He was too busy gaping at Roy's amazingly angry . . . and amazingly handsome face. "You almost gave it away, and I told you not to do that! Don't make me regret my decision to let you go back to field work."

"What else did you expect me to do?" Ed demanded once he'd gotten his second wind, gesturing wildly towards the burning lump on the ground. Tucker's screams had quietened into nothing, and it was sickening, but he remembered the man's words: That he wouldn't go back to being dead unless he truly returned to ash. Roy was taking care of it for him. "Let him kill me? If you hadn't taken so long to follow me he might have."

"Who was that, anyway?" Havoc demanded, jogging up beside them out of breath.

"That," Ed said lowly, "was Shou Tucker. Nina's father."

"He's dead tho—oh." Jean's eyes widened exponentially as he realized what Ed was getting at. "The Gate again. Aw man, I don't understand this shit. How do these people just show up? Like, shouldn't their bodies just be all smelly and stuff?"

"Does that matter? He came back with all his fucking memories, including how he got caught. He remembered what the hell he did to Nina. And he still didn't fucking care."

"We need to get this taken care of right now," Riza announced, her eyes locked on the nauseous-looking passerby. "The brass is no doubt going to hear about this. I don't know how we're going to pretend this didn't happen, sir."

"We won't hide it," Roy answered, staring in disgust at the remains on the ground. He snapped again. "They can I.D. the body. He still has his teeth." The flames died down but honestly, Ed would have rather saw the flames than what was left once they disappeared. Tucker's death was gratifying, but not the image he left behind. "The military never checked Tucker's body after they found his head splattered across the room. For all they know, that man could have been an imposter. I believe this will be easy enough to cover up."

"Sir, with all due respect, we really should learn to take care of our own messes without having to make up stories."

"This really isn't the time to complain," Ed pointed out, "considering we have a damn crowd. And there's a dead body laying smack in the middle of the street. You know. Should probably call clean-up."

Riza blinked, but nodded and quickly turned to Havoc with instructions to get to a phone and call for the cleaning team. Meanwhile, she would stay nearby until they arrived.

"As for you," Roy announced shortly, grabbing the back of Ed's jacket. He complained loudly, of course. Not to make a scene, but because seriously? If that wasn't one more way to make him feel even shorter than he already was then he didn't know _what_ did. "I told you to stay put. You already ignored that order. So we're going straight back to the house and I'm going to watch you. You aren't going anywhere until I know there aren't going to be any leftover issues from the incident last night."

Ed bristled at the thought. "I don't need babysat," he spat at Roy. "Unless you wanted him to get to Nina?"

Roy froze, let go of his shirt, and Ed crossed his one arm smugly over his chest. Now he'd obviously see his side of the story. Wasn't it obvious, anyway, how he needed to think about the important things and not about how long he would have to babysit Ed? He could take care of himself. It wasn't like this was the first time he'd ever been injured.

"I don't care about that," Roy said, and Edward froze himself to blink up at the other man.

"What?!" he demanded once he found his voice. "He is the one who wound up killing her and you—"

Roy grabbed his arm that time and yanked, pulling him down the street and through the throng of curious people. Ed had run further than he'd thought; it took several minutes for them to get back to the townhouse once they were there.

"What the hell," Mustang," he tried, "we were in the middle of things over there! Don't tell me you're just going to leave that fucking body for the Lieutenant to watch while you go off gallivanting again, and you don't need to _chastise_ me. I'm not a fucking kid anymore."

But he was very much ignored and by the time they made it back to the townhouse, Ed really wanted to punch Mustang's nose in too.

At least, until the door slammed shut behind them and Roy dipped his head down. Before Edward even realized what was going on Roy's lips were on his and his golden eyes had widened into saucers. Roy was . . . Roy was _kissing_ him, uninhibited. Desperately, like there was an edge of fear to it.

And Ed . . . stilled for just a moment before he jerked his arm up, wrapping it around Mustang's neck to pull him down further. He kissed back fervently, not realizing how much he'd wanted it until this moment. How much he'd needed to know that the other man cared for him in this way. And God, was it glorious. Mustang's lips were soft, not course like he would have imagined. Ed kissed back like it was the last one he would ever get . . . because it might be. After this, anyway. After the man got so pissed at him for the Tucker incident.

They drew apart slowly, breaths hitched and nervous, and Roy brushed his fingers against Ed's face.

"Don't ever do that again," he whispered. "I've lost you once. I don't ever want to lose you again, you bloody idiot."

His explanation for the kiss was so sappy, so romantic, that Ed sputtered while he tried to come up with something in reply. He looked down at the floor in embarrassment. Then back up at Roy.

"Does this mean I can piss you off more often?"

The pop to the back of his head wasn't nearly as gratifying as the kiss had been.


	12. Souls

Cliffhanger warning lol

* * *

Roy was expecting anything from a slap to a punch to an artfully placed automail leg in the nuts. What he was not expecting was for Edward Elric, alchemist of the people and notorious fireball, to _kiss him back_.

And oh, what a kiss it was . . . Ed's lips were surprisingly soft and pliable, and his _tongue_ . . . God, his tongue was amazing, almost like he'd done this before. And maybe he had, for who knew what had gone on in that time Edward had gone missing before the Promised Day? He'd been with Greed, that much he knew. He'd been with a man, or rather, a thing that had wanted everything. Everything including Edward, because he was most definitely a prize to be won. And Roy . . . wanted to win that prize. He realized it now more than ever. He wanted Edward Elric. He didn't ever want to let him go again. He didn't ever want to see him die again. Even if he died himself in the process.

And Fullmetal's face when they'd finally pulled away for air had been so priceless, he'd wished he had Maes' old camera to capture the moment forever. His face was still angry but flushed now with heat, his eyes wide as saucers.

And Roy, days later, was still thinking about it, a stupid sappy grin planted on his face as he stared down unseeingly at his growing pile of paperwork. Riza was probably going to murder him later for his laziness. He didn't care at the moment.

There had been no further attacks on Ed's life, nor had they spotted any other people brought back to life. Roy had made the heavy decision, however, to have Nina removed from Gracia's care. He absolutely did not think that a child of that age could do something particularly harmful, but she had certainly been brought back to life for some reason. He wasn't sure if it was an emotional trigger for Ed the Gate had been thinking about. He didn't want to take the chance. And he certainly did not want to risk Gracia or Elycia's life even if Nina was harmless. It was certainly a precaution Roy hadn't wanted to take, but thought there was no other choice but to take.

Edward, on the other hand, was panicking a little bit. There'd been no word from Alphonse. On the one hand, this most certainly meant that they had left Xing for Amestris like planned. It might take them a long time to make it back, but there was no communication out in the desert. But that wasn't why Ed was worried. Ed was worried because undoubtedly, Alphonse and May had brought Fu with them, and Fu had not been alive previously. Yes, Fu was not in charge of either of them, and probably would have preferred to be near the emperor.

But the Gate had probably made Fu suggest he be brought along. Which meant that there was a very dangerous weapon heading their way, and they had no way of knowing if the woman inside the Gate was out to get Ed alone, or his brother as well.

Al could very well be in a considerable amount of danger.

Not that Roy didn't think Al could take care of himself. Ed had once told him that even before he'd been a suit of armor, he had never once been able to beat his younger brother sparring. And considering Roy had seen Ed do all sorts of wonders with nothing but his own body, it made him wonder just how skilled Alphonse was indeed. It was for that reason that he thought Al, who had likely trained extensively in Xing not only in alchemy but in combat, had no reason to fear the threat of being assassinated.

He also thought that, because of the sudden silence when it came to the attacks, the person behind the Gate was now waiting on the brothers to be together again.

Ed had removed the bandages around his neck and had returned to work. Against his own wishes he'd been given a lab, where he would no doubt find the younger alchemist now. There was only so much he could do with one arm, as much as he tried to persuade everyone otherwise. Roy was worried it would cause him more danger than he'd really ever been faced with before. At the very least, a few days getting used to his leg and some sparring with Major Armstrong along the way had helped him regain full mobility on that front. Ed's strides were comfortable and long once more, in spite of his small body.

And for Roy, this was a relief. To see Ed looking less like a weakened shell of himself and more like the young man he'd grown incredibly used to was like a breath of fresh air. Now he truly felt that Ed had returned to them.

If only he'd known that Ed thought his time back was only temporary.

"Sir," Hawkeye announced from beyond the door, "we've been handed a team mission."

And abruptly, all thoughts about what had happened with Ed fled his thoughts. A mission was good. A mission at this stage, in particular a team mission, meant they were doing good work. It meant the Fuhrer was pleased with their work.

Unless they were sent to do clean-up, which was exactly the opposite of good. But Roy doubted that was the case. In the recent past Grumman seemed very impressed with the work they had been doing.

He stepped around his desk and joined the others in the main office, sensing the determination in every single one of them. Good. This was a good mission. "What are our orders?" he asked confidently.

"There is a current hostage situation in East City, one of the utmost importance," Hawkeye stated, handing him the paper. He skimmed it quickly, stiffening as the details came to light. While this was a good mission indeed, it was not one anyone particularly wanted to handle due to its upsetting circumstance. "An academy has been invaded by what appears to be a team of alchemists. The Fuhrer has asked for us specifically to handle the case and prevent any more casualties from occurring. Based on the last report, there have already been ten hostage deaths. In particular, your flame alchemy and Edward's general alchemic knowledge are the main reasons we were chosen." She looked between them all. "We are to leave immediately. Falman is fetching Mr. Elric at this moment. A train has already been booked for our departure."

"Do . . . Do you think Ed will be alright on this?" Kain stuttered out. Although Edward was officially a part of their team, he'd never actually . . . taken part in team missions. He'd simply had more important things to take care of and Roy had always just covered for him. This time around, he thought it would be far better to have the Fullmetal Alchemist with them. In a situation like this, everything had to go perfectly. Not only for the poor victims involved, but for him if he wanted to ever achieve his goal.

He smiled confidently at his subordinate. "Don't worry. We've spent the last two days developing a cover up to Edward's unique skillset. It will be far more beneficial to have him with us than here where any number of things could happen. Particularly with the . . . other problem we have to deal with." He looked once more to Riza. "This academy. What ages are these students?"

"Anywhere from seven to eighteen, Sir," Hawkeye answered quietly, and Roy brushed any thought of looking good out of his head. He was prideful and proud of his work, but he wasn't selfish.

And when there were young children involved, he was all business. He'd already proven that once with Edward and Alphonse.

"Understood. Pack up and wait for Falman and Edward to return. We leave as soon as they arrive so take the liberty of packing for them as well."

"Sir!" the group of them shouted, and Roy breathed out a soft sigh, fingers running through his hair. So much for daydreaming of romancing the gorgeous blond man that night.

Their two missing team members arrived moments later, Falman as stoic as ever and Ed grouchy as all get out. The short alchemist was clearly in a foul mood, which meant he'd likely been on the verge of yet another alchemical breakthrough in the lab. He'd already found three in the last two days . . . kept on the down low, of course. If the military knew what Ed was really capable of, what his mind was capable of conjuring up, he'd be turned into the greatest biological weapon of all time. Amestris would be unstoppable.

And Ed's livelihood would be ruined. He would become like Roy, empty inside with all the peoples' lives he'd wiped out.

Roy tossed the packet of papers over to Ed, noting with some pleasure that the other could still deftly catch it with just one hand without looking like there was any effort taken in it. "Read that while we're in the car. You'll understand what's going on better if you take note of details. Is everything ready to go?"

"Yes, sir," Hawkeye announced, hefting a bag on her shoulder. Havoc and Breda had similar bags already. "We sent sergeants to our houses to grab clothes and other nighttime accessories. They will meet us at the train station."

"Let's go."

"I didn't know you were in charge of shit like this," Edward announced as he blindly followed everyone out to the car waiting for them. His face never once left the sheaf of paper in his hand; it was amazing how adept he could be at reading and walking at the same time. "I just sort of figured all the upper brass sat around like you do to sign papers while the majors and shit went out in the field." He slipped into the car fluidly, still reading.

"The upper brass are reserved for situations such as this, or such as major wars, which require careful and professional mannerisms. The Fuhrer usually selects the most capable general to go in, so the matter is dealt with swiftly and with little casualties." Roy slipped in smoothly right next to Ed, leaning in ever so slightly.

Ed didn't seem to notice, preoccupied as he was. "Aw hell," he groaned, smacking his head against the back of the seat, "this is gonna make your head swell even more than it already has."

"Keep reading," Roy sighed, even as Havoc barked out an amused laugh from the driver's seat. Granted, the laugh got cut off pretty quickly as Breda squeezed into the front seat in between him and Hawkeye. But well . . . at least they didn't have to deal with Fuery and Falman in the back on top of Roy and Ed. It was a tight fit, needless to say. But a necessary one if they planned to make it before their train left. That was top priority at the moment. He looked up to the front again. "Let's get going. The sooner we're at the train station, the better."

Ed finished reading the packet of paper before they made it to the station, and by that time he was very much quiet, tapping the white sheets against his automail knee thoughtfully. He didn't even seem to care about the cramped quarters; Roy didn't either, for that matter, but for far different reasons.

"What is it?" he finally decided to ask.

"Is there some sort of revolt against State Alchemists going on?" Ed asked without preamble.

"Not unless it's taking place everywhere except Central. I've heard nothing of the sort. But this doesn't seem like a revolt in any case. Just a hostage situation. Trying to make a point?"

"A point about what?"

"That's . . ." A good point, actually. Now that Roy thought about it, there were some missing pieces. An academy taken over by a group of alchemists. There had to be some reason why they were doing it specifically. He looked to Ed again. "What are you thinking?"

"Do you think this has something to do with the other situation?" Fuery questioned, his soft voice almost going unheard in the otherwise loud car.

But Ed shook his head, clearly not convinced. "There was no way of knowing we'd be the group picked to go out on this mission. I'm willing to bet this is actually hindering the fucker who's playing in the Gate. Nah, I have a feeling these bastards are abusing their alchemy on school kids because the school kids have something they want."

"Why would school kids have something alchemists want?" Breda called, leaning over Fuery.

"It's an academy. New innovative technology and all that shit. They probably invented something they want. Or, alternatively, one of the kids picked something up off the street they shouldn't have, and they want it back. It could be any number of things." Edward shrugged, the move more awkward than ever in the cramped space. "It's just a guess, but I'd be looking for an object of some sort. Maybe an array."

Which then reminded Roy, "Speaking of which, let me see the channel workaround we came up with."

Ed wrinkled his nose. "Here?"

"It'll have to wait, Sir," Hawkeye called back to them. "We've arrived at the station."

Right. They were in for a long trip to East City; Roy would have more than enough time to make sure the ruthless young alchemist on their team had properly prepared himself to use his gift. "Understood. Find the sergeant who has our overnight gear and then load up quickly."

But perhaps brashly, he reached out, grabbed Ed's arm and pulled him back to him before he could take off. The blonde stepped back with a frown on his face. "I'm sure you're gonna tell me to take care of myself and all that shit, Mustang, but trust me when I say I'm a little smarter than I was when I was _twelve."_

"That wasn't what I was going to say at all," Roy answered quietly. "I know you can handle yourself. And I know I acted brashly the other day with Tucker. You did your best to keep from showing your alchemy. I appreciate that."

Edward's nose wrinkled. "Are you trying to sweet talk me? Cause trust me, Roy, that shit doesn't work."

"Not at all. However, I may have to take back my words if the academy comes falling down around us—"

"Fuck off!"

He chuckled and glanced around to see that no one was watching, then leaned in just so slightly. "I simply want to tell you that part of the reason our team was picked was because of you. I know that all eyes are on you so you must be careful. But I am counting on you to take care of these kids in ways my team can't. So . . . thank you."

"Unlike you, old man," Ed stated with all sincerity, "I was a kid once, so I can pretty much figure what they're all thinking. Don't worry, I'll save all your sorry asses." And with that, he patted Roy on the back with a smirk before jogging off to find the others.

And Roy . . . well, he probably shouldn't have cared for him even more in that moment, considering all the insults, but he didn't even care. That had been Ed's way of saying that he would make sure to be careful, to take care of things the right way.

Perhaps he _had_ grown up some in the last few years.

"Right," he stated once they had gotten on the train and settled into their compartment, "now you can show me your array."

"Sir, is this really . . ."

"This particular array is meant to be publish knowledge, Lieutenant." Roy glanced at Ed briefly before he elaborated for the less knowledgeable members of his team. "We can't let anyone outside of our team know just what sort of powers Ed has come back from the Gate with . . . not that they know he came from the Gate in the first place. That being said, they do think that Ed can still capably perform alchemy with just one arm. We just needed to devise a way for it to be seen how he is doing it, without letting them know that Ed has any extra knowledge about how alchemy in general works."

"Yeah, so we decided on a conduit basically," Ed then stated, nodding towards the shoulder of his coat. Ed had woven an array into the fabric there. The array itself was fairly simple, but Roy had a feeling there was much more to it than what met the eye. "Basically, I touch this array, the alchemy I actually have in mind is going to travel back through my arm a second time to go out. The effect makes it look like I'm still needing a circle to transmute, and it makes my alchemy look weaker than it actually is. It's gonna nullify part of the transmutation. Which is good cause I promised I wouldn't knock down any buildings. Or something like that."

"Is that going to hurt your arm, doing that?" Breda asked in confusion. "I mean if you have alchemy traveling back through your body."

Edward shook his head pointedly. "Nah. Basically what separates alchemists from people who can't do it is that our bodies are basically a conduit through which alchemy flows between the Gate and this world. So our whole body is already attuned to the sort of energy alchemic reactions give off. All it's doing is making my alchemy take twice as long to actually react. Pretty simple actually."

"But I'm guessing not just any old alchemist could do this," Roy mused.

"Damn right," the blonde answered, another of his famous grins splitting his face. "Actually, I can think of maybe three other alchemists in Amestris who could possibly pull this off. Just Teacher, Alphonse, and you. Well, and my no-good father but he's kinda long gone now so he doesn't count."

"The Human Sacrifices," Hawkeye realized.

"More accurately, those of us who have attempted human transmutation. Those of us who have seen the Gate. We're the only ones who actually own the knowledge of using our own body as conduits rather than an outside source." He wrinkled his nose. "Even if Mustang is such an old man he doesn't know how to break free of his old ways and try new things. Seriously, you've grown stale as an alchemist. I think I'd rather die than stop researching."

"I mastered my craft," Roy protested without any real bite behind it.

"You mastered like . . . one aspect of alchemy out of thousands. Don't you ever want to branch out? See what you can do now?"

"I think that's where we differ, Ed." Roy leaned back in the uncomfortable seat and thought about it for a minute. Thought about the entire reason he got into alchemy in the first place. "I delved into alchemy to further myself and go somewhere in life. I joined the military as an alchemist, but once I discovered new goals for myself, I moved on to reaching that specific goal. I may be an alchemist, but I am not one at the heart."

"Yeah, you're a rotten old Fuhrer at the heart." But Ed's teasing tone made it clear he was just picking on him . . . which was unsurprising, really.

"Whatever the case," Hawkeye stated, calmly snapping her revolver in her lap, "I think that we should conserve our energy for the task at hand. We will be expected to head straight over to the academy once the train reaches our destination. Please try to steel yourself for the task of rescuing those in danger."

Roy wasn't particularly inclined to sit quietly on the long trip to East City, but he also wasn't particularly inclined to meet his fate at the end of Hawkeye's gun. He sighed and shut his eyes, attempting to rest as well as he could considering Amestris's apparent urge to have the most uncomfortable carriage seats ever to exist.

* * *

There was a mess at the academy as Roy's team approached. The regular police were surrounding the premises, and several military members had sanctioned off the lawns to protect the crowding citizens from any danger that may have been present. Roy was quick to find the first military officer nearby. "Major, report!" he called as he approached a youngish woman crouched near the blockade.

"Brigadier General Mustang!" she called in obvious relief, shooting into an impressive salute. "We've been anxiously awaiting your arrival. There have been no changes as of yet but we have heard some gunshots from within. We are worried about the safety of the students within, but none of us have been cleared to go inside. We've been waiting for your team to arrive."

"How many students do you estimate are being held hostage?"

"This academy holds over two thousand students. It's estimated that at least half of the student body remains inside."

"Daaamn," Ed drawled out just behind Roy. He sounded calm about it but Roy could tell he was in the moment. He was determined to do what he could.

Unfortunately, the major couldn't read Ed the way Roy could, and the dirty look sent in the blonde's direction was probably warranted. "Sir," the major stated, "the protocol is that no citizens are to enter the premises, even if they are with you. And considering his actions, I don't think—"

"Major Edward Elric was specifically asked to be here for this," he told her simply, then watched as she gaped open mouthed for a minute. Yes, indeed. This was the famous alchemist for the people. A brat. Roy shook his head. "Please direct us to an entrance and let us take it from here."

"Yes, Sir!" she stated, saluting once more.

He turned to face his team, checking them all to make sure they were ready to go in. Each of them had at least one weapon on them—Edward excluded, considering he _was_ a weapon—and their faces were etched in solemnity. This was the reason Mustang could trust his team. This was the reason he had never doubted their loyalty in the past and now. Because when it came down to this, they were a formidable army all on their own. None of them would leave that building until the kids inside were safe, even if it meant their own lives. Hell, they'd once thrown down their stars to do what was right for Amestris. He trusted them with his life.

"The hostage situation is taking place in the main auditorium, but one of the alchemists is out and about so keep your guard up. Hawkeye, Havoc, I want you near the entrances of the auditorium, stop the alchemists if they attempt an escape through either of the doors. Breda, Falman, Fuery, split up and search for the third alchemist. Try to take them alive if possible, but if there is too much of a risk, take them out. I will head inside the auditorium and attempt to face the two remaining alchemists within." Roy paused, took a deep breath, and then finally, "Edward."

"Yo."

"You mentioned an object, something they are after that the facility may have. I want you to find out where that object is. You could easily pass for one of the students. Get in there. Talk to them. Find that object, if there is one. I am trusting you to do this."

The salute may have been with the wrong hand, but Edward handled it splendidly just the same, his gaze bright and attentive. In spite of all the messes Ed had caused over the years, one thing held true throughout.

Edward had never once let him down.

They really needed more men for this, but he trusted that his own could get this done quickly and efficiently. The only other man he wished he could have for this job was dead. He didn't particularly have a choice in the matter.

Roy deftly pulled on his gloves, snapped once to let out a spark, and turned back the other way. "Let's go."

The trick to a mission like a hostage situation was to make sure that his team got in undetected. He took one look at the entrance the female Major had led him to and shook his head. It was too obvious. It was just as bad as waltzing in through the front entrance. "See if you can find something less glaring," he whispered to Hawkeye. She nodded curtly and slipped off down the side of the building, gun out and ready.

Just a moment later, she waved her hand from around the corner. As they caught up, Mustang noted that it was a janitorial entrance. It likely led to some small locker rooms or broom closets; not the typical sort of place someone might be guarding. He nodded his approval of the door and glanced back at the rest of the team. They immediately nodded back at him; it was a silent acknowledgment that they knew their parts and were prepared to go in guns blazing.

The door was unlocked, which really said something for the establishment; Roy imagined it hadn't been altogether hard for the alchemists to break in. It wouldn't have been surprising if this was the very same entrance they had used, thinking no one would notice. If so, well, their escape route was about to be blocked. Making a quick change of plans, Roy gestured for Fuery to take up a stand at the door. Fuery was not built for combat like the rest; he was definitely more technologically inclined. And that was fine by Mustang, because every bit of it was helpful to any of them. He had no doubt Fuery had brought along some radios to scout out the waves in case any channels were going through. Fuery nodded immediately, a bit relief sparking behind his small spectacles as he lifted his gun and took up residence at the door.

When he turned back around, the remainder of his team had taken off down the hallway leading out into the main building. Meanwhile, he remembered what the papers had detailed, and where the auditorium was located. He would need to reach it swiftly to take on the two alchemists holding the students hostage before either of them noticed they were here. For Ed, for the rest of his team, he needed to be quick and efficient in taking out these men.

It . . . wasn't too hard to find, in the end.

The auditorium was packed, meant to hold maybe five hundred of the two thousand students attending the school. But no, there were at least twice that number packed into the small space, huddled against each other while two men stood before them. Roy didn't recognize either of them, which spawned some form of relief that it wasn't the Gate's doing like he had inwardly still feared. The men did have guns in their hands, and his gut wrenched when he could see two or three bodies strewn in the corner from his vantage point outside the room. It meant they were starting to pick the students off one by one until they found what they were after.

These men were not here to play. They were professional enough to know how to get what they wanted.

Which meant that Roy was not here to play either. And they only needed one alchemist in their possession to find out what they were after. Not two.

He stood again. Stepped into the doorway. And snapped.

The man died silently, nothing like Tucker a few days before amidst screams and struggling. It was almost as though he didn't care, as long as the job was done. Almost as dangerous as terrorists. The other man, a tall, lanky form, turned quietly to face him. Dark eyes skimmed him up and down as Roy stepped calmly into the room. His hand was raised to snap again but he didn't particularly want to. Besides, a third alchemist was still on the loose, and they had no idea what he was capable of. What any of them were capable of.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ed ducking through the students, stopping every so often to whisper something into their ear. Good; that meant that Ed had been successful at sneaking in unnoticed. He didn't have to worry about him while he was blending in.

"I'd ask what it is you're doing here," Roy stated softly, "but I think we already know."

"Oh?" the tall man breathed, a grin crossing his features. "Wouldn't you like to, though?"

"You're after something. Something the students have. Isn't that right?"

A flash of anger crossed his features, but he was quick to hide it. "There's no evidence of that, now, is there?"

"Just a hunch."

"And what, Roy Mustang, gave you that hunch?"

"What sort of alchemist points a gun at someone?" Roy asked instead, nodding to the firearm in the man's hand. "At kids, no less?"

"The kind that doesn't want to unleash any unnecessary alchemy," was the concise answer.

"I'll get right to the point." The kids were quivering, leaning into each other. One was pointing and whispering frantically to Ed. "What is it you're after? What is it that these kids have that you need so desperately?"

The man knelt down, placed the gun on the floor as though he were surrendering. Roy didn't look down. His gaze was locked firmly on the other man's face. "I guess now's as good a time as any to get started. I imagine you're going to be all the extra help we need."

"What—"

"Roy, get back!" Ed shouted from the crowd.

"I need their _souls_ ," he hissed confidently.

Roy looked down. At the chalk decorating the entire auditorium. It was a circle he had only seen once or twice in his life. A circle he never wanted to see again.

Human transmutation. The array to create a philosopher's stone.

The man snapped his hands down, and the room lit up an eerie red before Roy could ever step back.


	13. Knowledge

The auditorium was packed. No, that was an understatement. The auditorium had so many students inside it Ed thought he himself might not be able to fit . . . and that was saying something, considering he was down an arm too.

That, and he didn't have the faintest idea where he was going to start when it came to finding out what the hell these alchemists were after. Any number of the kids could have known something. Granted, it was highly likely the ones he'd find knew what was going on were the ones highly invested in science and technology.

So, well, he decided to be rather stereotypical as he slid in through the throng of students to begin his research. He looked for the nerdiest looking ones.

Not that he was nerdy. He was fucking amazing. And didn't even wear glasses.

But then, he and Alphonse were out of this world, right?

"You don't go here," a nearby girl whispered, eyes wide. She didn't look remotely nerdy, but Ed decided he really couldn't be picky when he was looking for someone to talk to, after all. He slid up next to her, giving her a calm smile.

"Nah," he said quietly in reply, glancing over at the alchemists again. He could see Roy through the open door over there, fingers poised and ready to snap. He had no doubt he could take care of the situation on that front. "I'm a state alchemist. Edward Elric. You've heard of me, right?"

"Who _hasn't_?" she breathed in reply, her eyes widening even more. "Are you here to save us? Shouldn't you be out there?"

"Nah, my bastard boss is out there on that end. Don't worry, the Brigadier General will make sure you all get out of here safely." He leaned in and spoke quieter. "Listen, what are they after? Do you know? I mean why did they target you guys specifically?"

"We don't know anything, none of us do. The only thing . . . the only thing they'd say was that we were the biggest academy in Amestris. Because we are. So I guess they wanted the facilities for something but they just keep holding onto us here." Her eyes darted between Ed and the alchemists again.

A shout went up in the air as one of the two guarding alchemists went up in brilliant flames; many of the students cowered and tried to press in against each other. Ed nearly lost his footing and only a quick grab at the nearest person kept him upright. "Damn," he hissed, "no one knows how to stay calm these days, do they?"

"What is that?!" the girl squeaked out, grabbing at him for dear life.

"Brigadier General Mustang," he answered quickly, gesturing as the man in question stepped out into the auditorium. "I told you he has everything under control. His methods are a little uh . . . questionable sometimes but he knows what he's doing. You just gotta trust him, okay?"

Wow. It had been . . . surprisingly really damn easy to say that out loud. He sure hoped Roy never heard him say that; he'd never hear the end of it. Like, ever.

"Okay, so," he breathed to her, his eyes locked on Roy as he talked to the one remaining alchemist. "You said they don't seem to be looking for anything. How long were they here before you guys found out they were?"

"They've been in here all day," she answered, sliding back a little bit and covering her mouth and nose with her sleeve. At least she was still talking through the burnt flesh smell. That was something, at least. He'd really have to talk to Roy about coming up with an array that would diffuse that smell. Before long Roy would smell like he was dead all the time . . . and who would want to kiss that?

"Doing what?" he pressed instead, deciding he was going to think about that later on after they took care of this little debacle.

"I . . . I don't know, someone else might. I just remember my friend coming in and saying there were these three weird guys in the auditorium. We thought they'd been approved and they were going to do some sort of demonstration. But then they just . . . started waving guns and some of us got out and some of us didn't. And they already . . ." She muffled a sob. "They already killed three of our teachers. We're going to die, aren't we?"

"Are you kidding?" Edward demanded, standing in front of her to place his hand on her shoulder. Thank the skies they were the same height. "You've got the Fullmetal Alchemist and the Flame Alchemist here now. And we're going to take care of everything, so don't you worry, alright?"

She smiled, her eyes a little watery. Ed didn't figure he could get anything else out of her, so he moved on to the next person. But he got the same answer from everyone. The men had been here all day, but they didn't know _what_ they'd been doing. Just that they needed the large space.

Wait.

Wait a second.

They needed the space? Or they needed the kids? This was the largest academy in Amestris. Which meant it was one of the easiest access buildings in Amestris with a wealth of youth, with a wealth of pulsing life.

It wasn't like three alchemists could just waltz into a military-owned building, after all. Not after what happened three years ago.

Ed's throat dropped to the pit of his stomach as he figured it out. Why they needed all these kids. Why they needed this space. Why they had gathered all these kids into this one room. He pushed his way through the kids, ducking under and over until he made it to the edge of the bundled academy students.

He looked down.

The chalk arched across the floor, stretched from one end of the auditorium to the other. He could only see a small bit of it.

The rest of it rested under the feet of the thousand students crammed into the room.

The remaining alchemist put down his gun.

"Roy, get back!" Ed yelled, even as the dread built over and made him want to vomit. Human transmutation.

They were going to turn everyone in the room into a philosopher's stone. And it would work.

Except . . . except the Gate was currently compromised, so there was no _telling_ what would happen inside it.

Roy looked up at him, and their eyes met for one desperate, painful second before the alchemist's hands hit the floor.

The world around Ed went red with the light of forbidden alchemy. Around him, the kids began to scream in fear, clinging to one another with their eyes either squeezed shut or staring at the lines lighting up the floor. Some of them tried to run, tried to escape the circle of certain death.

One of them slammed into Ed in their rush to get out of the circle, not that it would matter. They were inside it now. Ed stumbled, went to grab onto something, and missed entirely.

His face slammed into the hard flooring

* * *

and the next thing he knew, he was waking up to a white so white it could only have come from one source.

A white he had never wanted to see again in his life, but had somehow known he couldn't escape from.

He just . . . wasn't expecting to have seen it again so soon.

"Mr. Elric . . . sir, are you alright? Edward?"

He groaned and rolled onto his back. The last time he had been here, the only voice he'd been able to hear was his own. Well, his and Truth's, but Truth didn't count. The girl from before was leaning over him—he was slightly afraid she was developing a crush on him, which wasn't good considering he was pretty sure he was not single enough to mingle now—but her eyes were locked forward. Ed himself tried to look, but there was a sea of students surrounding the two of them. He could've sworn he'd been at the front of the pack before the array had been activate—

Roy.

"What's your name?" he asked, bolting upright so fast she jerked and backed away.

"C-Callie," she finally stuttered out.

"Right. Callie." He stood, stomped his feet to make sure he had a good, solid balance, and then grinned at her. "I know this is frightening and a little confusing . . . okay, a lot, cause you should totally be dead right now, but trust me when I say I am gonna do everything I can to get you out of here." He looked ahead. He could see the Gate now, towering over everyone's heads. It was still closed. "How long have I been out of it?"

"I'm not sure, we all kind of blacked out for a minute."

"Well that's fucking dandy. All right then. Do you see Brigadier General Mustang anywhere?"

"Well there's something . . . there's something going on up there, so maybe he's there?"

"Great." Ed gave her one more shoulder pat for good measure and booked it through the crowd of sobbing students to get to the Gate.

It was strange. He couldn't hear Truth. And Truth would have known he'd been back here. Truth would be mocking him, laughing at him for having found his way back even when he didn't plan on it. Truthfully, Ed was beating himself up over it too. He should have recognized the signs from the moment the students told him they'd been here all day. From the moment they'd said it was chosen for the size of the Academy.

He was such a fucking idiot. This wasn't the first time he hadn't caught on fast enough. And every time he'd been just a few seconds too late to stop anything from happening. He had _always_ been too late for these things. And sure, he may have skated by and somehow managed to survive up until this point.

But there were other people involved. And he couldn't tolerate that.

He was going to punch Truth in the fucking static-covered balls the second he saw the thing.

But there was no sign of Truth when Ed finally reached the Gate. Every other time he'd been in this hellhole, the Being had been here, waiting for him with those lying, welcoming arms. Truth was always happy to make an exchange. Happy to watch idiots like Ed suffer in the midst of hopefulness. The fact that Truth was not here, was not waiting for the alchemist who wished to exchange young and hopeful lives for power, was _concerning._ Whoever this was, whoever had breached the Gate, was more powerful than Truth and Knowledge itself right now.

Not for the first time in recent years, Edward found himself terrified.

"Edward!"

He whipped around, neck popping with an ungodly noise, but before he could even see where the shout came from there was a force barreling into him so hard he toppled over onto the not-floor. "Fuckin' _ow_ ," he groaned, voice muffled against military blue. It took him a moment, but he very quickly figured out that it was, in fact, Roy on top of him, hugging him as though he'd already seen death. Mustang's distinct scent filled Ed's nose, and all the fear he was feeling seemed to pale in comparison to the sudden crushing relief he felt when he acknowledged that no, he wasn't alone.

He was with someone who had already made it clear he would do absolutely anything possible to ensure their safety.

"Are you alright?" Roy breathed, pulling back finally to let Ed up. He was clearly reluctant about it, but the fraternization laws meant Roy would have to hide the clear affection he felt for Ed. Affections that . . . Ed wasn't quite sure about himself. It all felt incredibly new to him. "I had no idea where you ended up, and I had a different issue to deal with." He cleared his throat. "A couple, actually."

"What do you mean a _couple_?" Ed demanded. Shit, why was it every time he disappeared for more than a few minutes the whole world crashed down around them? And Mustang's felicitous attitude didn't help a damn thing at all.

"Our alchemists weren't as good as we thought they were." The Brigadier General locked eyes with him. He reminded Ed faintly of a kicked puppy with that pout. Or a smoldering hot god. He couldn't really decide which the more accurate representation was. "I think they found that array somehow. Whether they've had it since the Ishvalan war or someone placed it in their hands recently, I don't know. But I don't believe they knew what each component of the array was for specifically. They only knew what it would produce."

"So they were working for someone," Ed groaned, smacking his forehead with his hand. That was just great. That would mean a whole fucking investigation would be opened on this, and it would probably be him running out on field missions to sort the stupid thing out. "Did you get anything out of him? I mean we're all kinda just stuck here so it's not like he could do anything about it now."

"Well . . ."

"You didn't kill the bastard without asking for answers, did you?" Edward proceeded to give Mustang the most scandalized expression he could place on his features given the circumstances. He wouldn't be all that surprised.

Mustang cleared his throat awkwardly. "No."

"Then—"

"Unfortunately, he's dead anyway."

"Dead?! He can't be dead. That fucker hasn't even paid the damn toll for the stone. The transmutation's gonna be fully incomplete otherwise. How can he fucking be dead when we're still here and alive?"

Things just didn't _work_ that way. He'd known the Gate sort of played by its own rules, but this was something altogether. If this were true, if the alchemist who had performed the transmutation was really dead, then they could be stuck here until such time as the person inside the Gate decided they no longer had need of them.

Edward had to know for himself.

He planted his hand on the white, white ground and pushed himself up to take stock of the damage.

Roy grabbed his wrist. "Ed, wait."

"I've seen a dead body before, Mustang," he groused, knowing exactly how his C.O. worked. How he always tried to protect him from the reality of the world around them. Newsflash: he created part of that reality. "You know I'm not a fucking kid anymore. Stop trying to negotiate—"

"It's more than just one dead body, Fullmetal. It was a shock for me to see. And I've seen my share of dead bodies in my lifetime. I may have only been to the Gate for a minute before this occurrence, but this isn't at all how I remember it looking. So just . . . be warned."

That did give him pause. Mustang had been forced to kill men, women, and children alike during the Ishvalan war. He'd once time staged the gruesome annihilation of Maria Ross just so that she could escape from the military. He'd seen and destroyed more bodies than Ed could ever imagine handling. So if _he'd_ been shocked . . .

He decided he'd better steel himself before he got to looking.

"I have to look sometime, since we're stuck here," he told Roy, glancing down at him pointedly.

Then he looked up at the Gate.

Or rather, down.

And all around.

"What the fuck," he whispered, eyes widening in horror.

The Gate wasn't just functioning strange. It had downright abandoned its post.

Dead bodies were strewn all across the ground, stretching as far as the eye could see. They weren't decomposed, they weren't gory (for the most part). They were just . . . left there. Dumped for the Gate to take into its bosom. Was this where everyone wound up after dying? Was this the fate that everyone was meant to have? Or were these all alchemists? He couldn't tell. He didn't recognize any of the faces there. Many of them were old, though. Many of them had clearly died peacefully, without strife, and that meant they certainly had not been alchemists. Not all of them could have been.

Roy shifted, stood beside him. He struggled to take his eyes off of the sight, but when he did, he wasn't sure whether to feel angry, sick, or defeated. What the hell did Truth expect him to do about this? What could he do that would stop this? This was horrifying. This was out of his control.

"I was sent back for a reason," he confided to Roy after a moment, turning his back to the gruesome scene. "Truth gave me back to Amestris because it said something was happening that I needed to help with. In not so nice terms, but whatever about that. Fact is, I think this is what I was supposed to help with. Except I don't know where to even fucking start. This is . . . something else." He reached up, gripped at the port of his right arm just so he could feel the reality of the situation and know he wasn't hallucinating. He had both arms in his dreams. He definitely did not here.

Alas.

"You don't have to do this alone, Ed." Roy smiled down at him, and damn it, Ed almost wished his normal hoity-toity mannerisms would reappear just so he wouldn't _feel_ something when he saw that genuine look on the other man's face. That something that made him want to blush and kiss him or other unmentionable things. Fuck.

Instead he scoffed and glanced at the other group of people here with them, the ones that were still alive and crying and scared and any number of things. Shit, he wasn't responsible like this. Roy was the responsible one. He was the destroyer of buildings instead. "Problem is, General Bastard, I don't fuckin' know where to start. I may have brought knowledge back with me but even the Gate doesn't know how to handle this. I don't even know how the hell anyone could get to the Gate and take it over from inside in the first place. I was here for three years and no one ever stopped by, much less got inside it like I did."

"Maybe we could . . . knock?"

He sent Roy a rather dithering glare. "Knock."

"On the Gate. Surely someone within would be willing to negotiate a price in the wake of the transmutation failing?"

"Mustang, I knew you were an idiot sometimes, but this just takes the cake. We have really got to work on your alchemy."

"At least I'm trying."

"I'm _thinking_."

The best option was to not invoke whoever was behind the Gate at all. He didn't need to know who it was. At least, not yet. He still had things to do in Amestris, people to see again and things to wrap up officially. He'd never gotten that chance the first time. Facing them too early and without a plan might mean everyone here would die. And much like Roy had shown he didn't want him to die, he absolutely didn't want Roy to die here. Not like this.

"We'll have to figure out how to get out on our own," he finally answered, glancing back to the students once more. He could see the one he'd gotten to know by name standing there, watching him with such a hope that made it clear they were all riding on their expertise to get them out of here. Most of them had no idea what the Gate was. What the dangers were in being here. Just what someone could lose by coming here. He gripped his missing arm again. "You and me both."

"My power is hardly significant to yours in this case—"

Ed shook his head and turned to face Roy. It was really a pity he was so short; if he could have towered over the other man to hide him from lurking eyes in that moment, he certainly would have. As it was, he hated when Mustang did the same to him. "You're the only other alchemist here. Any other knowledgeable one, anyway. Any of these students who are alchemists don't know nearly enough to be able to pull this off. An alchemist of that skill level wouldn't be going to an academy. They would have already passed that level. And you hold the knowledge to transmuting without a circle. You know how to do it, even if your lazy ass decides not to use it. And if you haven't noticed, we don't have any chalk to draw something out, much less a ground to draw it on."

They would have to use the arrays they had sitting in their minds, and there was no question in Ed's mind that Mustang had memorized the patterns for human transmutation even if he had never used it before. After Maes Hughes had died, Mustang had gone . . . a little off the deep end, if he was putting it nicely. Any notable alchemist would have considered the possibility of bringing their loved one back to life, even after seeing what it had done to other people. Mustang was lucky in the fact that he had people like Hawkeye and Ed to make sure he didn't swim too far off the deep end.

Ed had already swum that far.

It wasn't exactly pleasant, if he said so himself.

"We need to tweak the array that brought us here. You remember what it looked like, right?"

"It's hardly easy to forget what it looks like," Roy answered quietly with a nod. "What do we need to tweak about it?"

"I'm not sure yet. I need to think on it. D'you happen to have any paper hiding in that fancy blue coat of yours?"

Mustang offered him another one of those faces that made him want to be a lout just long enough to punch him in the face. "Why would I carry paper on me?"

"You aren't an alchemist."

"I most certainly am—"

"Any _real_ alchemist wouldn't ask questions like that," Ed sneered in reply, then fumbled around in his own pockets for a moment. Miraculously, there was a folded up wrapper of sorts hiding in there as well as a generously chewed on pencil. He must've been thinking pretty damn hard the last time he'd used it. "Go see if any of them have any paper too," he added, nodding to the crowd of students.

"What are you doing?"

"I need to think. You should too, if you can." He wrinkled his nose. "Not that fire alchemy is going to be particularly helpful in this situation. But every bit counts." He smoothed out the small swatch of paper. "You'll want to think of ways to alter the original array that will reverse the transmutation. That should in effect nullify the transfer of energy and send us back where we came from."

Roy paused. "That . . . sounds incredibly theoretical."

"My whole life is theoretical, Mustang," Ed scoffed, then knelt down, using his knee to hold the paper out flat while he started to draw.

It was . . . eerie, being here like this. Stuck, but not in the way Ed had been stuck for the past three years. He wasn't alone, but it didn't feel _right_ either way. He feared for his safety and for Roy's. He'd made a promise but what . . . how could he follow through with it when he was sitting here like a bright red target? Okay, well, not bright red anymore.

He glanced over to the Gate again with a frown. It had remained firmly shut. No way around it, then.

He knelt down over the paper, blowing strands of blond hair from his face as he got busy. By the time Roy reemerged from the sea of students, he was heavily invested in the work and only looked up when a sheaf of paper and an actually sharpened pencil were offered to him.

"How long do you think we've been here?" he asked as he grabbed the paper and quickly transferred the sketch of the array to the larger sheet.

"It's hard to tell," Roy murmured, lowering himself beside Ed. "Our pocket watches seem to have stopped working."

"I don't wind the stupid thing up anyway," Ed muttered. "I reckon a couple hours by now, at least. Not a fuckin' peep from the Gate. I'm starting to think there's actually nothing in there and we've just warped ourselves to a dead dimension."

"You said it yourself . . . that our bodies are the medium between the power we have and the Gate, which is the source of our power. As such, would I be right in assuming that the power is still coming from somewhere here?"

Edward frowned and looked up from the paper to stare at Roy. He was . . . kind of onto something. Surprisingly. Maybe he wasn't a hopeless case for an alchemist after all. "This part right here," he pointed out to the Brigadier General, tapping the butt of his pencil against one section of the array. "This is the energy needed to create an array like this. This is the energy from souls, specifically. While we're here, we can't be conduits because all the energy is stored here at the Gate in the first place. So . . ."

"We can't create an array?"

"We can't use _this_ array. But I already said that." Ed jerked his thumb back towards the group. "We have to use them."

The confusion and slight alarm in Roy's expression actually gave Ed some great pleasure. "Edward," Roy said slowly, and quietly, "I understand that you may know what you're doing, but specifically risking the lives of—"

"I'm not risking anyone's lives except our own," Ed was quick to retort, glancing over at the kids one more time. "The Gate is on some other plane of existence that we can't really figure out. Hell, we could be crazy and this could all be in our minds. I wouldn't be surprised, cause alchemists have to be fucking out of their minds to try some of this shit." And yes, that included himself, he was proud to say. "I'm saying we need that sort of power to reverse it, or in other words, to push it out of the plane. We can't be conduits, but if we tweak this part of the array right here, we can send them back down to where they came from."

"And if the array is rejected?"

"We'll get the brunt of it. It's the best I got, Mustang. You asked me to make sure these kids got out alive. And you know me." He grinned. "I'll do whatever it takes, even if it's the most fuckin' stupid thing ever."

He could see the indecision in Roy's eyes, so he sat and waited impatiently to see what his decision would be. He didn't have anything better. It had to be powerful enough to propel all of these students back where they came from without injuring them. If it worked successfully, Ed and Roy would be able to return with them. If it didn't . . . well, any number of things could go wrong.

"Try it," Roy finally said, low and tight. He reached forward, setting his gloved hands on Ed's shoulders. One flesh, one metal. "And in case something goes wrong—"

"Cut it with the sap til we get out of here, Mustang. Doubting this shit is why your alchemic dick is so flaccid now."

". . . Ed."

"Go away, I gotta make sure this is right." He glanced up, rolled his eyes. "Stop worrying and make sure everything is right. Here." He handed the original array to Roy. "Make sure you get every single fucking bit of that in your head for this, cause we can't draw it out. You can't picture one wrong detail or it'll all go wrong and we'll end up dead."

Roy looked at him again, with so much resolve and trust that Ed could hardly stand it. No one needed to put so much trust in him. He was notoriously a walking disaster.

But not this time.

This time, he held knowledge that he'd never been able to use before. Knowledge that would make the most unorthodox of arrays work, like this one. Knowledge that could put them together in his head.

And the array clicked like he had known how to do this all his life. He sketched it, refined it, tweaked it, and he knew when it was right. He knew without a doubt that it would work. This wasn't like his mother, where they had to go by a _guess_ to try to bring her back to life. The knowledge was there, waiting for him to use it. And in a situation like this, where the array would never fall into the military's hands but instead would reside solely within the Gate and within Roy's mind . . .

It was a chance to shine.

"Here," he stated to Roy, shoving the finished array into his hands. It had taken him another hour but the Gate still hadn't budged, hadn't as much as creaked open an inch. It was this or rot in this grave like the rest of the dead bodies strewn around the infinite white. "Memorize that fucker real good and we'll get out of here." He frowned. "I don't exactly want to know who's behind this until I have two functioning arms again and Alphonse shows up."

"Ed," Roy whispered, "this is . . ."

"You can drool over it _after_ we get out of this shithole, okay?" He tapped the changed area again pointedly. "Get everyone together into roughly the same size as they were in the original array."

Which turned out to be the hardest part, actually, because most kids were total idiots in Ed's eyes and they didn't know how to listen, only cry and scream and beg for who knew the hell what when they were just trying to help.

"You have it?" he asked Roy as he took the piece of paper back. At Roy's nod, he ripped the paper up as best as he could with one hand. "I'll count. At three, with the image of the array in your head, put both hands down. You know how it works without a drawn array. Let's bring these little shits home so we can go back to Central."

"We've got to talk about your vocabulary at some point," Mustang sighed. "There are many words you can use that don't constitute the terms—"

"One," Ed stated clearly, turning back to the group of students.

Roy fell silent if not a tad bit wide-eyed.

"Two."

"Three!"

The Gate creaked and rumbled like an unoiled door hinge. The giant gates slid open just as Ed and Roy's hands dropped to the floor and the array lit up like fire around them, brilliant and correct and full of knowledge.

Ed looked up in victory.

But the victory died when he saw the Gate slip open, revealing brown hair, tied into a side bun, and smiling green eyes.

They didn't smile anymore.

They were dead.

But Ed recognized that face anywhere, and guilt clawed its way up his throat like acid.

"M-Mom?" he whispered, and then her face disappeared as the light of his array enveloped them.


	14. Family

Edward didn't move when the reaction came to an end and the by-now familiar sight of the academy's auditorium appeared again. He sat there, crouched and still next to Roy, his golden eyes wide with shock and an unfathomable sadness. Roy had never met the Elrics' mother, nor had he seen the face in the Gate like Ed had just moments ago. But he knew Edward, and he knew that his mother's face was burned into his mind like a damning curse and a love spell at the same time. If Ed thought the person taking control of the Gate was wearing his mother's face, then . . .

Roy was sure that was exactly what Ed had seen.

Children were crying and hugging each other all around them, looking relatively unharmed, but Roy only had eyes for the distraught young man kneeling next to him. He slowly reached over to place a hand on one shaking shoulder. "Ed . . ."

"Chief!"

With a soft sigh, Roy turned away and looked around to find the rest of his team running towards them. Riza looked undeniably frantic, while the rest of them simply seemed relieved to see them again. They were, Mustang observed with mild dread, notably missing the presence of the supposed third alchemist.

"What the hell happened?" Havoc demanded, whistling lowly at the cracked remnants of the auditorium floor. "One minute we thought everything was going fine, and the next thing we knew there was an eerie light and the whole pack of kids went missing."

"It seems," Mustang answered softly, "our alchemists acquired some confidential blueprints and used them to attempt to create a Philosopher's stone. Luckily for us, that attempt did not work." He glanced briefly to Edward. "Luckier still is the fact that Fullmetal was there. If not for him, we may not have made it back in one piece." Even quieter, he added, "I am afraid he may have suffered some slight trauma from the experience, however."

Riza's gaze tightened slightly at that. Roy knew more than anyone else how much she actually cared about Ed and Alphonse. Ever since she had come with him to view the effects of Edward's failed attempt to resurrect his mother, she'd shown a motherly side no one knew she even had when it came to them. Not that it showed in her voice, per say. "Sir," she said, clipped and professional, "we can clean up here and retrieve witness statements. I insist that you and Major Elric step out through the back and take a moment to pull yourselves together. You could use a moment's rest after your experience."

"Understood, Lieutenant." Roy offered her a grateful smile—damn, how he would _really_ need to get some paperwork done—and pressed his hand to Ed's arm. "Let's get out of here for a moment," he suggested. "The kids will be fine with the rest of the team."

Surprisingly, Edward drew in a heavy breath and nodded. The gaze that met Roy's was shaky and unsure, and Roy wasn't sure if he would ever be able to dig up the reasoning behind that expression. But that was fine with him. He knew what Ed was like, knew he hated to talk about everything that he thought was wrong with him. What Roy really wanted was to lend an open ear—and an equally open heart—if his subordinate ever decided he wanted to let him in. He would never force him into spilling his deepest secrets or concerns . . . just as Fullmetal had always done for him.

He pushed open the back door to lead Ed outside, only to be bombarded by a journalist and a photographer loitering by the exit. Ed immediately cringed, ducking back somewhat behind Mustang to awkwardly hide his missing right arm.

"You have no authorization to be here," Mustang barked with all the superiority of a general to back himself up. It wasn't often anymore he got to use this voice. It felt rather nice. "If you remain in this area, I will have the local police relocate you to the nearest jail cell. And if I find so much as one illegally taken photograph hit the newspaper, rest assured that I will hunt the two of you down and refer you to military custody. Or I could just let you spend the day with the Fullmetal Alchemist here. Wouldn't that be pleasant?"

He could feel Ed sullenly glowering behind him at the two men, and without further ado the two of them took off rather quickly.

"Ugh," Ed announced faintly, "Why are you always so fucking needy?"

"Unless you'd rather the East City Herald to announce our unlawful relationship simply because we were seen leaving the site together . . ."

He shook his head and swallowed, staring down at his feet. No, Roy thought, that was the absolute last thing they needed right now. "Sit down," he pushed softly, gesturing to a nearby bench that was likely used for the janitor's smoke breaks. It certainly smelled of Havoc's favorite brand.

"I'm not crazy, right?" the blonde man asked suddenly, turning to stare at Roy in some sort of crazed desperation. "That it looked just like her?"

"Ed." Perhaps _he_ needed a seat for this too. "From where I was, I didn't get a good look at her. I never truly met your mother, in any case; all I had were old photographs on the Rockbell's wall. So even if I had seen her . . . it probably wouldn't have clicked."

"Well, fuck," he whispered, running his hand through his mussed golden hair. "It can't . . . it can't be her, why would she . . ."

"We have noticed that they—she—seems to be targeting you specifically right now. So perhaps she took on that form specifically to rile you up, to make you falter? What if it isn't really her, but just her face, her body? Who does that remind you of?"

"Envy is gone," Ed answered immediately, "and he wouldn't be smart enough to do this. So . . . maybe it really _is_ Mom." Ed finally sat down. "She's gonna hate me by now. Trying to bring her back to life. Dragging Alphonse into it. And then going and _leaving_ him . . . "

"You loved your mother, Ed." Roy didn't know exactly what to say, to be honest. But he was damn well going to try anyway. He hated to see Edward like this . . . but it was a part of him he tucked away where no one could see. No one except what was left of his family. And now, perhaps, Roy. "You made stupid mistakes, Ed, but first of all, Alphonse was not one of those. He willingly put his hands down beside yours. And he knows that you left him trying to bring him back to a bodily form, left him without knowing you were leaving him. You were eleven years old and without a mother or a father. Anyone can see a child's reasoning behind just wanting their mother back. Your mother included, for sure. No one wants to see you repeat those mistakes. But Alphonse certainly doesn't blame you for them. He adores you."

"I'm the only family he has left, he's sort of stuck with his shitty older brother."

"Alphonse is traveling all the way from Xing, all the way across the desert to see you again. I have a feeling he wouldn't be doing just that if he thought you were a shitty brother. Don't sell yourself short. He loves you, Ed. So even if that is your mother. Even if she no longer loves you, remember that Alphonse is always going to have your back. And so will I."

"Yeah, but you're an idiot."

"On whose declaration?"

"Mine. Edward Elric stamped and approved. I should release a patent. Come see idiot the Roy Mustang bark orders at wild photographers."

This was a relief. This meant Ed wasn't so upset he couldn't function like his normal smart-ass self which was exactly what Roy wanted him to be like. He wanted to see Ed open up more. But he wanted to see Ed do it his own way, in a comfortable way.

"You," he said gently, "are amazing. You've fought through your past and you are working to gain yourself a new future. You defied all odds and got your brother's body back for him, regardless of the cost to you."

"Never once."

Roy blinked. "What?"

"I never once regretted being stuck with the Gate. It was horrible, it was hell, but I never regretted it because I knew that somewhere out there, Al had a body again. God, you have no idea how much of a relief it was to know that the mistake I made was finally rectified in one way. I didn't give a single shit fuck about how I was going to end up. I never thought I'd be able to come back. When I did I thought the Gate was just fucking with me, you know? It wanted to play, to try to mess me up inside some other way. But it actually needs my help. And I can see why. Truth might be the worst part of alchemy, but without the Gate we wouldn't even _have_ alchemy. We need it. And this person is inside it, controlling it, my mom or not. I have to stop them or Amestris is screwed more heavily than Father ever could screw it over."

"And that," Roy commented, "is what I admire so much about you. No matter how bad the situation is, you always manage to find the strength within you to get to the end."

"I have things to protect," Ed answered almost defensively.

"Things such as?"

"My family. Alphonse. My friends." He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "You."

"Funny . . . because all I seem to want to do anymore is to protect you."

"Stop being cheesy, old man," he groaned, nudging Roy gently in the ribs. "I can protect myself just fine, thank you. I'm even down a fucking limb and I'm still doing better than your old creaky bones."

"Just wait another five years."

"Geez, no thanks."

"Are you alright?"

"Wha—I mean, yeah, I just told you, even if I have to take out whatever. . . whatever it is that has mom's face, then I'm willing to do it."

"That isn't what I mean, Ed. You were stuck inside the Gate for three years; that was all you knew. When you came back you almost immediately had a panic attack under my desk." Mustang shifted a little on the bench, turning to the side to fully face the younger man. "Did being in the Gate upset you in any way? That's all I mean. They have a term for it, it's called—"

"Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, yeah I know. I know you had it after Ishval. That's why I asked you about that shit." Ed shook his head, took a deep breath. "I'm okay, honestly, Roy. The Gate we saw just now isn't the same place I was trapped in. All those dead bodies . . . all those discarded souls and the fact that Truth was nowhere in sight. That wasn't what I experienced." Golden eyes rolled back in some semblance of a mocking toss. "I would've preferred the dead bodies any day. At least then I'd know I wasn't alone all the time, you know? At least I'd know the life I had before getting stuck there was _real._ "

He understood now. He understood why Ed had changed the way he did and why . . . why he needed to help let him know that he was certainly really back. Ed needed more than romance, more than just Roy courting him. He needed to be rooted here again. He thought Ed might still think he was in the Gate half the time, or that he would have to go back when this was all over. But he . . . he was going to make sure this golden-haired man never had to go back to that hellhole ever again. Even if that meant he had to go himself, even if he had to give his own life to secure Edward's.

He didn't say anything, of course. About that. "Trust me, Major Elric," he announced smartly, "Immortal Homonculi and power-hungry Fuhrers are about as real as you can get these days."

"You forgot to add soul-bound armor and finger-snapping Colonels," Ed added with the first instance of a grin since they'd returned just now.

"Ah, my bad. Only, he's been replaced by sometimes-snapping-sometimes-clapping Brigadier Generals."

"Somehow I like that guy better than the Bastard Colonel."

"Somehow," Roy replied softly, "so do I."

* * *

"So now," the sometimes-snapping-sometimes-clapping man groaned loudly as he collapsed onto his couch, kicking off his military boots without so much as a care in the world as to how messy his study got, "we have to figure out how those alchemists wound up with Marcoh's array blueprints on top of figuring out who it is we're trying to stop exactly. On top of that, we have to deal with multiple attacks on your life and desperately need to find out if Alphonse is safe with that bodyguard from Xing. Why does it feel like we just keep piling on more questions instead of solving some of the ones we already have?"

"Don't forget we also have to figure out exactly who attacked me in the first place," Ed pointed out, sagging down in the nearby armchair, equally exhausted.

There'd been a short discussion once the immediate details of the case were wrapped up over what to do, but ultimately, the team decided to go ahead and catch the fastest train home. It meant they'd go even longer without resting, but the promise of their own comfortable and familiar beds at the end of a long train ride was more than worth it. Granted, Roy thought the couch in the study wasn't so bad looking either. His behind felt like a sack of potatoes after sitting on the rock that was the train seating. He could never for the life of him figure out how Ed had always managed to doze off on them.

"We did in fact ascertain that it was not Shou Tucker, am I correct?"

"Yeah, it wasn't that fucker. But can we talk about it later? I don't know about you, but my head feels like Hawkeye shot a fuckin' round at me."

Roy managed a smirk. "I'm quite sure you wouldn't have enough of a head left to say that had she actually shot a round at you."

"Gee, Mustang, thanks for the mental image."

Roy stood, wobbled his way over to the couch and held out his hand. "Come on," he said. "I'm not letting you sleep down here by yourself, even if it is eight in the morning. You can sleep in the guest room if you'd like." He hesitated and then added, "or you can sleep in my room."

"Well shit," Ed said, "you aren't coming on thick at all, are you?"

"I'd like to think I am far more gentlemanly than 'coming on' to someone." Roy raised an eyebrow.

"Well, fuck gentlemanly." Ed offered Roy a casual grin and reached up to take the offered hand, and Roy's heart soared to the sky. He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to cope with this sort of reaction if Ed stuck around. He was amazing, though. So outside of Roy's own comfort zone and he probably really needed that. He needed something to break away from the monotone life he'd fallen into after the Promised Day.

"If you'd like to take a shower," Roy said as he led Ed upstairs to the bedroom, "feel free to use mine."

Ed grumbled under his breath as his metal foot dragged a little and kicked the next step. "No offense, Mustang, but I think right now I'd rather sleep. Hope you don't mind dead people smell."

"No offense taken," Roy chuckled lightly. "I highly doubt I smell much better than you. We can reestablish how much we need a bath after we take a nap." He smirked. "Besides, if it makes me sick, that's one less day I have to face the end of Riza's gun when she finds out how much paperwork I have left to do."

In spite of not wanting to shower, however, Roy decidedly did not want to go to sleep wearing his uniform. It would have been a decision he certainly would have regretted come when he woke up. So he reluctantly let go of Ed's hand and slipped into the bathroom to change into a comfortable pair of sweats. By the time he returned, Ed had already burrowed himself into one half of the bed; the only things visible were the crown of his head and his half-closed eyes, following Roy throughout the room. Roy seriously doubted Ed had changed his clothes—not that he had many to switch between to begin with—and he did inwardly cringe as he thought of all the hidden grime he was probably concealing and rubbing all over his pricey covers . . .

But hell, it was Ed. He didn't even care.

He slipped into the free half of the bed, sighing comfortably as he sank into the mattress. The train ride home was definitely worth it at that moment. Worth it because Roy was in his favorite environment with one of his favorite . . . no, Ed was his favorite person too. There was nowhere else he'd rather be right now.

Roy shifted a little closer, not quite touching Ed but close enough to smell the automail oil and sweat. It should have made him cringe. It made him want to bury his face into that mussy blonde hair and never leave the bed again.

He thought Ed had already fallen asleep and had very nearly done just that when the head underneath the pool of messy hair spoke, so quietly Roy almost missed it. Hell, he hadn't known Ed could be that quiet in the first place.

"Hey, Mustang."

"Yes?"

Ed popped his head out from under the covers once more, blinking sluggishly at Roy with a furrowed brow. "I must be a fuckin' idiot," he announced, "because I know what the results are to bringing someone back to life, whether it works or not. But did you ever . . . did you think after this whole shitty thing started 'I really wish this person would be brought back'?" Ed shifted. "Cause I did. When I heard Nina was back I . . . God, I didn't even waste any time thinking 'maybe mom can come back too'. Haven't I . . . I've done fucking enough wishing. You'd think I'd learned my lesson when I almost lost Al. But I still couldn't help . . ."

Roy sighed softly. He should have known this conversation would have come up at some point or another. After all, it was Ed. He was the product of what not to do when a loved one died. And Roy . . . well, he was too, even if his mistakes weren't visible like Ed's were. Gingerly he reached over, draping one arm comfortably against Ed's form. The body beneath stiffened just for a moment before eventually sagging back into the bed's comfortable mattress.

"The first thing I thought when we figured out what was going on," he murmured softly, "was that now there was a chance for Maes to come back. Now there was a chance for him to be returned to his family, and everything would be okay again. I thought, 'maybe now Hughes can get back the life that was taken from him so wrongly'. And if you recall, it was him that Pride attempted to coerce me into reviving on the Promised Day."

"You said he forced you to in the end," Ed mumbled under the covers.

"He did. But I can't deny thinking while he did, 'what if this works?' It didn't, of course." Roy slid closer, lips now close to the face-shaped lump under his blankets. "But this time, I did have something that kept me from wishing on Maes too hard. Something before we found out what the person inside the Gate is doing to them."

"What w's that?"

"You, Ed. For three years, I have seriously contemplated what I could possibly do to get you back. It was only the promise your brother made me make that stayed my hand. That I would never try to retrieve you from the Gate. But we all thought you sacrificed yourself for him, not just your alchemy. Had any of us known that, we would have fought tooth and nail to get you out of there."

The blanket eventually lowered as Ed snorted. "Pretty sure that's how Truth wanted to make it look. You never would've known."

"You're right. I never would have known." Roy raised his body, propping himself up on an elbow, and looked down at the blonde with an affection he was afraid the other was going to make fun of as was his way. Surprisingly, he didn't. "You were a missed opportunity for me, however. I didn't realize until you were gone just what I had lost. An invaluable team member, someone I could trust with everything I had, and someone I cared deeply about. I spent three years 'moping' as Riza put it, with no purpose. And then you quite literally fell out of the sky."

" _Technically,_ " Ed stressed, "I just sort of materialized right there due to a—"

"Ed."

"What."

"You fell from the sky."

"The fuck are you so damn cheesy for?"

"Let me have my moment, okay?"

The look in Ed's eyes made it clear he thought the admission was probably the sappiest thing he'd ever had the pleasure of hearing, but Roy studiously ignored the look in preference for continuing. "So," he answered, emphasizing his words now, "the point is, I can wish Maes would be brought back, but what would he have to do? What would _his_ cost be for coming back to life? Killing his best friend? Killing his wife and child? The moment he came back, we'd have to lock him up to keep him from hurting the ones he loves. Because he would be entirely conscious the entire time. I miss him. But I would never wish that on him."

Ed was silent for a little while, his gaze locked on the dresser beyond the bed. "Guess I never thought about it that way," he eventually admitted, turning those tired golden eyes back to Roy. "Even if Mom came back she might have to kill me or Al. And then she'd know . . . she'd know what we did to her, probably. And maybe she'd _want_ to kill us."

"You have Alphonse," Roy replied, "and really, that's all you need. You've taken care of him for as long as you can remember, and he's done the same for you. It's been long enough, Ed, that you can put your mother to rest for good. Even if the woman in the Gate is your mother, she isn't the mother you knew in loved. So really, it isn't even the same thing." Roy reached out, gently sliding his fingers through Ed's hair. "I'm just happy you were able to return. You may have lost your arm again, and you may think of yourself as not whole, but this is you. You aren't being controlled, you aren't being manipulated or forced to do things beyond your will. You're simply Edward Elric. So perhaps you should remember that. And remember that you have practically an entire army to back you up this time."

"Are you calling your team an army again?"

"Are they not?"

"I mean it's mostly Hawkeye, she's a fucking one-woman army or some shit."

"Not that you aren't two armies put together."

"I'm waitin' for a compulsory short joke."

"I wasn't even planning on it."

"Bullshit."

"It's just that no one can see you coming."

"I'm gonna fucking kill you in your sleep."

* * *

Roy got a solid eight hours of sleep before the downstairs phone rang and disturbed whatever sort of heavenly realm he had ascended to. He rolled out of bed with a groan and a curse. Ed didn't so much as stir, and a bleary look up at the bed showed he'd relaxed quite a bit over the course of the night; he was practically invading the entire bed at that point which was . . . quite a feat considering how small he was compared to the mattress. The phone ringing didn't cause him to so much as stir, and Roy mumbled another soft curse under his breath as he scrambled downstairs for the phone. He jerked it up to his ear and prayed to all the gods that be that it was not Riza.

For once, it wasn't.

"Mustang Residence," he groaned into the phone, exhaustion clear in the raspy tone his voice had taken.

A chirpy, definitely-not-asleep voice answered him. "Brigadier General Mustang! It's Alphonse, I figured I'd call you again. I figured that was where Ed might be hiding himself away."

It took Roy a minute to process that Alphonse was actually calling them. And another minute to process that Alphonse was supposed to be in the _desert_ and not able to call the house while in the middle of nowhere. "Aren't you traveling?" he asked several seconds later, feeling there was probably some silly explanation to all this.

Turned out, there was.

"We made it to the Xerxes ruins," Alphonse confirmed. "I brought some materials along with me in the off chance I needed to contact you. I was able to transmute some wires and a couple other things to create a phone line directly to your house."

Roy blinked. "Oh. Is that all?"

"Did I wake you up, Sir?"

"We . . . had a rough couple of days, I'm afraid. Your brother is still sleeping. Knowing Ed, he could be a few more hours at least."

"That's okay, I wanted to talk to you for a minute anyway. Did you . . . want to make some coffee or something first? I know how you and Ed are with needing to wake up."

"Is this thing very serious?"

"Ah . . . potentially."

"I'll be just a minute, then."

More like five, for he found himself brewing enough coffee to drain one so fast his tongue would be burnt for days. Totally worth it, though, because it was just what he needed to wake himself up. Well, and figure out how badly he smelled. He decided not to think on that until he was done talking to Alphonse at the very least. He settled back down on his couch with a second cup of coffee and picked the phone up again. "Alright, go ahead."

"We've noticed something a little . . . off about old man Fu," Alphonse admitted. "And May and I were wondering if maybe you knew anything about it."

"I dare say I do," Roy sighed. They must have been attacked or at least noticed some unusual movements. "What happened?"

"It's not that he's done much, exactly," the younger Elric brother explained. "He said that sometimes he feels like he isn't fully in control of his body. That once in a while he will do something he didn't think about doing, or his arm will move without his control. I thought maybe . . . something was overriding his basic movements. Something like that. Has Brother ever had that problem?"

"Not Ed," Roy affirmed, "but we've already confirmed that he was never dead in the first place, and the Gate merely sent him back to Amestris. We think this specifically is the reason he was sent back. There is someone inside the Gate who is bringing all of these people back to life. We think it has something to do with Ed, or maybe you too. We received further confirmation of that yesterday. But you are correct. The one controlling the Gate has the advantage of controlling anyone they bring back to life. You could very well be in danger, even if it's clear he doesn't intend to hurt you himself."

"I think he would be willing to let us keep him restrained, if that's the case. I know he would hate for one of our deaths to be on his shoulders, even if it wasn't his intention."

"I think that is for the best," Roy agreed. "They revived Shou Tucker and he managed to find Ed. Thankfully he is no longer an issue but the concern is very real. If it weren't for your brother's quick thinking, Tucker may have gotten him."

He heard Alphonse's sharp intake of breath, but he wasn't going to scare him any further. It was serious enough that they knew what might be coming for them. "What about Nina?"

"Nina is fine. Gracia is looking after her. As far as I know, she was only brought back to life to give Ed hope at first. But if she does try something, Gracia is certainly ready and has been warned."

"How is Ed doing?"

"Overall, he's fine." Roy glanced over at the stairs where the person in question had just emerged, blinking owlishly into the study looking like he'd just walked into a wall. Perhaps he had. "Coffee in the kitchen," he mouthed with his hand over the phone, and Ed took off like a rocket. He pulled his hand back down. "He just woke up, so I'll let you ask him about it after he's had his daily dose of coffee. He could probably use the talk. If you have the time, that is."

"I always have time to talk to him, you know that."

"That I do. But perhaps he doesn't. I suggest you remind him."

"Who're you talkin' to?" Ed asked from the doorway, cradling a cup of coffee in his hand.

Roy turned around and held out the receiver. "Why don't you find out?"

"I gotta put down my coffee."

"I think it's worth it."

"Well shit."

And certainly, the way Edward's face lit up as soon as he found out who it was made Roy think it most certainly _was_ worth it.


End file.
